


Vitya Diaries

by gabapple, mamodewberry



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: First Love, Fluff and Angst, Georgi the Witch, It's okay to hate the boyfriend, Just know that Viktuuri is endgame, M/M, Makkachin ESA, Minor Original Character(s), NLA Canon, Nonbinary Character, POV First Person, Papakov, Pre-Series, Pre-Soulmate, Princess Vitya, Real World Consequences, Teen Angst, This is dumb teenage puppy love - don't take it too seriously, Victor the Disney Princess, YA Novel style, Young Victor Nikiforov, tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-15 05:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 88,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11799600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabapple/pseuds/gabapple, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamodewberry/pseuds/mamodewberry
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov is a gold medal champion, an accomplished dancer, highly desired by his peers, and in several magazine cover spreads as one of the most handsome young men in all of Russia. So what's got him down? He's broke, he's tired, the boys at his school are idiots, the girls don't seem to get that he's so not interested, and the kid his Coach just recruited is the absolute worst! To top it off, his crush sees him as just another boy, not the princess that he is. From rivals to romance, being a teenager is never as easy as it looks, even if he does make it look good.In short, this is the story of how Viktor fell in love for the first time, which started the chain of events that left him the mess that only Yuuri could salvage years later.





	1. First Gold

**Author's Note:**

> **Important Disclaimers / Please Read:**
> 
>   * Just like NLA, this fic can be considered canon compliant with a few (minor) exceptions.
>   * One of these exceptions is that it takes place in our world, in which discrimination is an unfortunate reality. This is an important part of Viktor's backstory. If this is not something you want to read about, that is totally okay, but please do not read this fic. It will upset you, and no one wants that.
>   * This story deals with some mature themes, but nothing in here is graphic enough to be inappropriate for a Young Adult novel, which is exactly what this is written as. For this reason, I've listed it as Teen and Up with No Archive Warnings, because it is intended for a YA audience. Adolescent readers need books that deal with tough stuff, like depression, relationships, sexuality, identity, family, etc., in safe, easily accessible formats.  
>  Obviously, adults benefit from it, too. But if reading about teenage sexuality makes you uncomfortable, this fic is also not for you.
>   * **Please note that teen Viktor is often a _very unreliable narrator and cannot always be trusted._**
>   * Finally, I've never been to Russia. In fact, I've only been out of the States once in my whole life. But I'm doing my best to research and ask questions. Please be gentle, and know that I am definitely open/willing/eager to being corrected and educated. :) I would love to hear from you, dear readers. I want to make this the best it can be, and I want everyone who reads it to have a good experience. 
> 

> 
> Thank you!
> 
> -Gabapple
> 
> \--
> 
> This fic is meant to be read along side chapters 19-22 our main story, [Never Look Away,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8997835) the Yuri on Ice companion novel with 100% more Viktor PoV and backstory, but can also be read on its own. I usually write MG/YA novels, not fanfic, and definitely not adult 3rd person fiction... so... this was an "indulgent break" to write in my usual style. :) 
> 
> Many thanks to Mamodewberry for her constant support and betaing. Without her, this fic could not exist. She also lends her incredible talents for the dialog, backstories, characterization, and consultation of both Yakov and Georgi, who play important roles in Vitya's life. ESPECIALLY Papakov. <3
> 
> Also, please be sure to check out [Misa's Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/misamisatoto/)\-- she's the one that does all of the bundle illustrations and she's amazing! <3 
> 
> **Vitya Diaries Gallery:** [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/i/moments/897323135770402816)  
>  **Vitya Diaries Playlist:** [on Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbdh3hx058l4Fs6mvYIPD-EnCIkI2pob-)  
>  \--
> 
> ~*~ For Moose, who wanted more young Vitya and Papakov content. (°◡°♡).:｡ ~*~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor competes in the Junior Grand Prix Finals, skating his heart out as The Wishing Star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> You may notice that this is a lot like [NLA Chapter 19's flashback.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8997835/chapters/26025333) That's because... that's exactly what this is. Only expanded, more detail, and first person PoV.
> 
>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Expansion of Blockade_ \- Shiro Sagisu

_“Fifi, do you know what wishing stars are made of?”_

_“I don’t know… dreams? Hope? Vitya, don’t make that face at me. What answer are you looking for? Oh, wait, let me guess: you’re going to get on your soap box and tell me that they’re made of hard work,_ non? _”_

 

Heartbeats.

The thudding of the crowd in the stands overhead, both feet and voices.

A slow breath out, another in.

The air was alive with energy. Apprehension. Anticipation. Anxiety.

 

_“No. Fifi. Ice. Wishing stars are made of ice. Cause they’re comets? You know. Ice, rock, dust, frozen gases. The ice is what makes them sparkle. And that’s what gives them a tail, too; when the dust in the ice starts to burn up in the atmosphere. That’s what these are, see?”_

_“Those aren’t feathers?”_

 

I touched the _accoutrements_ at my shoulders, testing the hold of the stitch. Still strong. But that was no surprise; Fifi was a professional. The smooth lycra tails at both wrists, shoulders, collar, and chest were silky whites and gunmetal greys; made to match the trousers that were required of all male skaters. Only mine were fitted and sewn with detail to suggest the movement of catching the gravitational pull of a planet, building momentum and streaking across the sky. The mesh that covered my torso wasn’t nude, but silver, and glittered like the ice crystals I’d hedged my bets on.

 

It was the most important competition of my life.

 

_“Just because I’m skating to something from Swan Lake doesn’t mean I’m a swan.”_

_“My mistake, Vitya.”_

_“But it’s okay if you think that- at first.”_

_“Pardon, what?”_

_“Okay, okay, hear me out. How often do you watch figure skating?”_

_“I… must confess, I usually only watch at the Olympics.”_

_“Exactly. You and probably most of the world.”_

_“All right…”_

_“That’s not enough.”_

 

The smokey eyeshadow and pale stars I’d painted on my cheeks were subtle, but would be enough for the cameras on closeups. It was meant for the repeated viewings, for publicity shots, and for the viewers at home. Watching my performance live was only one small part of the Viktor Nikiforov scheme, after all; there was something for everyone, every time they watched, by design.

“Vitya, let’s get moving.”

I slipped my track jacket back over my arms, well aware that it wasn’t team colors, but didn’t care. It was from the Salt Lake Winter Olympics, and as long as the Russian patch I’d sewn in faced the cameras, no one could say anything. _Sasha_ wore red. My rival in Juniors wore red.

I wanted to wear blue.

Coach said nothing. He was used to it.

 

_“Skaters have, what, two, maybe three programs per year. That’s it. And most people in the world don’t even watch them. Those that do? Well they get bored, don’t they? Why would they want to watch the same programs over and over again?”_

_“Why are you asking me, Vitya?”_

_“They say that skaters start slow, peak at the end of the season, but that only works if_ everyone _starts slow and peaks at the end. What if someone brings their best from the start and drives you out of the competition? Then you don’t even get the chance to peak!”_

_“So you bring your best.”_

_“And then you get better. But that’s not enough, because you’re still skating the same two programs over and over again.”_

_“Okay…”_

_“So they have to evolve. It has to be a story. The whole season has to be designed from the start. The first competition, they think I’m a swan. That makes sense, since I’m skating to Swan Lake. But no- no, then they think about it…”_

_“And they’re supposed to be analyzing this?”_

_“I’ll leave them clues.”_

 

I watched the other boy finish his program and take his bow, breathless and exhilarated. The crowd screamed his name, but I could barely hear it over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears again. I was the last in the second group for the Free Skate of the Junior Grand Prix Final; whatever I was about to do would make or break the next season.  If I had any hope of advancing to the Senior division, I had to break my silver streak.

The Senior division was where the real money was. Sponsors. Advertising opportunities. Ice shows. Endorsements. Coach Feltsman’s fees had been paid by my aunt and uncle so far, but there was no guarantee that it would continue. There was never a guarantee of anything. I had to start paying my own way.

Only winners could afford to keep competing, and a coach’s love could only get an orphan charity case so far.

 

_“Clues?”_

_“Yeah. My programs will go together, and the exhibition gala is the final piece. So you watch all three, you get one clue. Then, the next competition, I change the jump composition a little, update my makeup, maybe change what my statement is about the program, and if they’re paying attention, they’ll start to put together what the real story is.”_

_“This seems… elaborate. Do you really think people will put it together?”_

_“Maybe not at first, but I’m going to be skating for a really, really long time. Years and years. It’s going to catch on. They’ll watch the replays. Some people are obsessed! I’ll get fans. They’ll have theories. The news will spread. They’ll want me to win so that they can get the next clue, the next piece of the puzzle.”_

_“Vitya… my dear, darling little unicorn.”_

 

Coach held out his hand, which was his way of asking for my jacket. I unzipped it with a sigh, shrugging it off to hand it over, embracing the chill of the frosty air once more. He hung it over his arm, then put a heavy hand on my shoulder, offering a modest, but warm smile in its place.

“Vitya. Remember, you are Viktor Nikiforov, and you take what you want.”

I nodded, though it came with a breathless laugh, full of nerves. Coach had always said that before each competition, but I’d never been able to figure out where he’d gotten it from.

“Go on.” He nudged me toward the barrier.

The music could start with or without me, and they gave penalties to late skaters. I couldn’t afford that. I stepped to the edge as they called my name over the PA and removed my guards, passing them back to Coach like a baton in a relay. Once over the threshold, the ice took me, blades cutting through to draw me to the center of the rink.

“And from Russia, Viktor Nikiforov, skating to _No. 5 Pas de deux - Andante_ from Tchaikovsky’s _Swan Lake.”_

I took my position- an _effacé devant_ -and timed my breathing with counts in French until the music began.

 

_“So the first time they think I’m a swan, but then I’m doing a lot more aerial work, so they think maybe I’m an angel or something, especially when the statement mentions ‘heavenly bodies’ but no- no, by the end, they’ll know that I’m a comet! Don’t you see? I’m the wishing star! The Wishing Star is me!”_

_“It’s… I would hope, since you’re wearing this costume. You’re so petite, it’s not going to fit anyone else.”_

_“Thank you! But then they’ll know; I’m the star. And I can make a wish on myself. I’ll make my own dreams come true. See?”_

_“Oh. So this_ is _one of your little soap boxes.”_

_“Fifi!”_

 

The piece I’d chosen was a song that, for the most part, was only the sweet, high trill of a single violin with occasional accompaniment.

Like me.

I was small and _looked_ fragile, but everything about me was muscle built for speed and agility. I was strong. Flexible. But I was more than that, too. As the notes skipped across the bow of the instrument, I used the ice to paint a picture of the universe.

The life of a comet was brief and lonely, a sentiment with which I was all too familiar. Wandering the endless sky, searching for something to hold onto. For someone to reach back. Each aimless arc on the ice was a path carved by gravitational pulls from somewhere unknown, out there in the vast darkness, calling, calling… but where was home?

A comet could search its whole life and never find where it belonged, just like a skater could burn out and fade away without so much as a notable entry in the ISU’s book; without ever leaving an impact on anyone’s heart. What then?

But no star ever became a beacon without effort, and no comet found its place without exploring every avenue. I, too, would find my place, shining brightly for everyone watching now, everyone who would be watching later. I was that comet, seeking my star, silver ponytail streaking behind me, driven by destiny.

 

_“You’re just like your mother, Vitya.”_

_“Am I?”_

_“You are. Just as stubborn as you are elegant.”_

_“Fifi.”_

_“Two unicorns in one lifetime… What are you wearing for the exhibition gala?”_

 

When the music picked up tempo, I was ready. The skates were heavy but my heart was full and I threw all of myself into it. Just a little higher, a little faster, drawing from years of disciplined ballet to push the movements outward for more beauty and higher scores. I raised an arm here, showed off my effortless crossovers there, all the while maintaining a smile so serene, so sweet.

Each jump pulled from depleted energy reserves, but I fought through it. The orchestra hit came and I redoubled my effort. Saving so much of the step sequences and complicated transitions for the end made sense on paper, and for the music, but was utterly exhausting. Stamina had never been my strong suite, and the stars from the story I saw in my head doubled with the ones I saw in front of my vision.

The Hague was such a beautiful city. I’d never been to the Netherlands before. I wanted to explore it, to wander by the water and see what the rocks smelled like. Were they different than Saint Petersburg? We hadn’t seen much of anything since we’d arrived. I wasn’t old enough to go out on my own, but I would be eventually. Skating took people all over the world. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to keep creating programs and stories, bringing beauty to the ice in the only way that I could.

Ballet wasn’t enough.

It had be skating, and it had to be gold.

I wanted it _so badly._

I could grant my own wish. Just push a little harder…

It was over before I even quite realized it.

Shaking, panting for breath, the audience around me a blur, the world came to a stop. I pulled myself out of the big finish pose, muscles burning with the ache of strain. A hot shower would help, but a long, long nap would be even better. I just had to make it off the ice, first.

The pounding in my head made everything shift out of focus and back again, over and over. I offered reverence in the form of a bow and a curtsy, with a kiss to the tips of my fingers and sent on the wind of my breath to my coach before waving to the crowd and bowing once again. That last one had been a mistake. Necessary- it wouldn't be complete without it -but the lights were reflecting off the ice and making my head spin. I gave myself a moment to let the cheers wash over me and for my vision to clear, then made my way to where Coach was waiting.

I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or not, which was normal; It meant that I was probably in for a lecture.

As long as I didn’t faint on the way over, I could handle that.

He steadied me as I put the guards back on my skates, helped me with the jacket, and led me to the kiss and cry. With water and sitting, my head cleared, which meant I was able to understand every part of the reprimand.

“That was a moving performance, Vitya. Though I wish you’d stop changing your jump compositions in the middle of your programs…”

“Just keeping you on your toes, Coach.”

“Hmm.”

He wasn’t pleased, but he couldn’t help smiling. Coach was weak to a spitfire attitude, and everyone on our team knew it. We were compliant _enough_ , but free spirited and creative. He liked that. Coach especially liked me. I was his favorite. He believed in me more than anyone else in the world; when no one else could or would. Maybe I didn’t listen to him when it came to jump compositions, but I’d give my life for him in a heartbeat. I’m pretty sure any of us would.

The scores flashed on the screen in front of us, and once again, the world came to a stop.

The announcers were speaking over the PA, excited chatting, moving through the lineup, but I couldn’t quite parse what they were saying, not while the numbers burned their way into my skull. I’d beaten my personal best by a lot. I’d pulled ahead of everyone else, again, by a lot.

I was in first place.

Was that right?

“C-coach?”

He nodded.

That didn’t clarify. “B-but-?”

“Yes, Vitya.”

Still didn’t answer my question. Was I not being clear? What was the word? What language was I speaking?  “Gold?!”

“Yes.”

Maybe it the rush of emotions, the friction and momentum sandblasting in the rush of atmospheric entry, that set me in a tailspin. It could have been the relief; like ice crumbling and breaking off in pieces in the freefall, shedding the weight of the pressure and uncertainty. Or perhaps it was a glimmer of destiny on the horizon; a glimpse of what lay ahead. A promise of home. Those waiting arms, outstretched, _calling_ for me.

The tears fell before I got my hands to my face, and continued with rolling sobs that bubbled over and escaped, unbidden. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t hold it in. And I didn’t want to. I choked on another and buried my face against the dark wool of Coach’s coat, water bottle abandoned to seek his comfort instead. He let me have his side, patting my back over the Olympic rings, and I hid my emotions there, under his wing.

“I told you, Vitya,” he said, voice a deep, and growling timbre; like a papa bear to his cub. That’s who he was. My coach, the biggest, scariest, meanest, bestest, warmest, most wonderful papa bear. He leaned closer, squeezing my shoulders. “It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be just fine.”

Yes, I would.

After all, I was Viktor Nikiforov, princess of Saint Petersburg, and gold medal champion of the Junior Grand Prix.


	2. The Favorite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov brings Viktor to Russian Nationals every year so that he can take him out to breakfast on his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Secret Garden_ \- Rosa De Donato

Winter in Saint Petersburg was dark. I could handle the cold just fine, and the ice was nothing if not my preferred battleground, but the dark? The unending, relentless dark? It left too much room for the shadows of doubt and memory. 

It also made it so much harder to get up in the morning.

On Saturdays, I left the Academy before most of the others were awake. I didn’t have classes, and workshops weren’t until the afternoon, so it was perfect for one-on-one time with my coach at the skating rink. Who else would venture out so early on the weekend? No one else on the team, that was for sure, even though we were leaving for Nationals in less than a week. 

Feliks didn’t even stir as I got dressed, stopping to rub the sleep from my eyes again. The window above his bed looked out to the snow-swept streets between the weathered dorm buildings, but this early, and with the cloud cover, there was only the faint glow of a street lamp somewhere below. 

I left just as some of the other early risers were just starting to poke their heads out of their rooms, wandering to the shared lavatories. Sleeping in was a luxury most of us didn’t dare indulge in for too long, not with exams coming up. Junior Nationals was at the same time, so I had no chance for a break; another reason the dark was unwelcome. 

It felt like I was sneaking out in the middle of the night as I slipped out into the quiet streets, boots leaving uneven prints in the fresh snow, track bag slung over my shoulder. It wasn’t quite seven AM, but by the time I made it past the Alexandrinsky and the library, the little cafe next to the bus stop was open anyway. I went in, said my good mornings, and picked out a chocolate chip and coconut-oat cookie, and a cup of black tea with lemon.

“To go?” asked the girl at the counter, though she knew very well that it was. 

“Yes, please,” I said, and took out the change that was due every saturday morning, and set it on the counter while she finished ringing it up. 

“See you next week, Vitya!”

“Thank you, Manya.”

“And say hello to your coach too, okay?”

“Yes, Manya.”

The snow began to fall again while I waited at the bus stop, sipping the tea from the cup between my mittened hands, cookie safely stowed in the inner pocket of my coat. Aside from the occasional passing car, the world was quiet, all sound muffled by the drifting flecks of white.

Then the bus came, loud and rattling, and I climbed inside with a sleepy shuffle, showing my student metro card, and made my way to the back. It was a short ride, but just long enough to get comfortable. It wasn’t as if I could watch the metal beast’s journey over the bridge or anything; the frozen river was lost to the dark just like everything else, anyway. 

It was only the fear of dropping the tea that kept me awake enough to not miss my stop. It was too dark. Dark was for sleeping. 

I hopped off the bus and shook out the warmth from the heater, inviting the cold back in as I got my bearings. But, as usual on mornings when it was dark, and the snow was falling, it turned out to be unnecessary; Coach was waiting for me by the street lamp, one dark, looming figure in the only spot of light in the world. 

“Morning, Coach,” I said.

“Good morning, Vitya,” he said back. And then, of course, he waited. Expectantly. 

I sipped my tea. “You don’t have to walk me to the rink, you know.”

“I know. But how will I get a cookie if I do not?”

I made him hold the cup while I got the cookie out, still fresh and warm in its plastic wrap, then traded it back for my drink. “Here you go, Coach. You addict.” 

He removed one of his gloves, and grumbled under his breath while he opened the cookie, and broke off a piece, which he offered to me. “Your cookie tax.”

“Pfft. Okay.” I took it, and nibbled the corner, setting the rest on the lid of my cup. 

“I’m not going to be responsible for  _ all _ of these calories. You have to take your share, Vitya.” He took a bite, chewed, swallowed. And smiled. 

It wasn’t his favorite cookie, but it was one that he liked. That we _ both _ liked. And I liked to surprise him by mixing it up once in awhile. 

He waved me on. “Come along, then, Vitya. We have much to work on before the others arrive.” 

 

It didn’t stop snowing and it didn’t stop being dark. Not in Saint Petersburg and not in Kazan, which is where Nationals were held. For the Senior level competitors, anyway. Not me, not yet. I’d been going to Nationals ever since my ninth birthday as an assistant to my coach, but this was my last year. My aunt and uncle paid for the flight for my birthday present, and Coach let me work off the other expenses- food, travel, hotel -by carrying stuff and making sure the seniors had all that they needed for the competition. We always shared a room, too, so that made it simple. 

My first flight and first hotel stay was for Nationals with Coach, way back when. It seemed so long ago, now. How the bed was twice as wide and long as my own back home, how the shower had a glass door and the water came from the ceiling. I’d gotten used to it, traveling all over since then, but it was still fun to be out with Coach. No classes, the buzz of excitement, the press milling around, the other athletes… 

And breakfast.

The only day of the year I liked breakfast, and that was only because Coach took me out, no matter what the weather was, no matter how busy, away from the hotel and all of it, just to spend time with me for a little bit. 

We got up early, Coach and me, got dressed, and headed out to one of the many secret places that only he knew about. It was usually within walking distance, but sometimes we took a cab, which was fun, too. I almost never got to ride in cars unless Coach was driving. Then he’d get us a booth and we’d sit across from each other, and order the same thing every time: fried egg and kolbasa, blini and cottage cheese, strawberry jam, and tea with rye! Too much. Always too much. But Coach loved it. And I loved it because Coach loved it. 

He’d ask about school, and I’d tell him that ballet was fine, that homework was boring, and that I couldn’t wait to do skating full time. Then he’d give me a lecture about taking my lessons seriously, and I’d tease him about Lilia, and if they’re going to move back in together again, and then he would go over the schedule for the day. 

It was perfect. 

“I’ll have you on water duty,” he said, dropping the crumpled napkin onto his empty plate, then reached over for my remaining piece of bread. “You’ll remember to have it ready for the kiss and cry, da?”

“Yeah, I’ll remember.”

“Good.”

“Hey, Coach.”

“Hm?”

“We’ll still get breakfast next year, right?” I asked, watching Coach remove his wallet to take care of the bill. I never paid for breakfast on  _ his _ birthday, but someday, I’d be able to. “Even though I’ll be in the Senior division?”

He grunted, tapping the plastic card on the tray before the server girl took it away, then looked back at me with a frown. “Vitya…” he began to say, hesitated, then shook his head went about putting on his gloves, instead. “You’ll have a birthday next year, won’t you?”   
“Well, yeah.”

“Then I think you know what we will do next year, too.”

 

Watching Sasha skate was different than the others. Coach had two women on his team, three men, and two pair skate couples, but Sasha was easily the best. He was the only one of the single men that came with us to Nationals, but he was all that we needed. Even though he didn’t listen in practice, and it always seemed like he was being kind of lazy, once he got in front of an audience, he was really amazing. 

The hard edges sort of melted away, leaving this bright, smiling figure behind. No one would have ever guessed looking at him on the ice that he was really this huge jerk day-to-day. We didn’t get along at  _ all _ . But everyone loved him on ice and in interviews. And he  _ was _ good. 

After the Grand Prix Final, there hadn’t been any tears at all. Not from Sasha. He’d simply bowed, gone to the kiss and cry, and waited with Coach for the scores with that grin of amusement on his face.

Then, at the podium, standing center, he’d taken the gold without so much as a waiver of confidence. Like it was all rehearsed. Of  _ course _ he was supposed to win gold. He was Sasha Markov, King of Russia’s figure skating. King of  _ all _ Men’s single skating. He only had two real rivals- Kir Ivanov, a fellow Russian, and Stephane Lambiel, a Swiss skater and my idol. Sasha still beat him by a margin of two full points. 

“I’ll beat him next year.” 

Coach turned to me, but only for a second before he looked back to the ice, to Sasha. “You’re making him your rival?”

Maybe it was a bit of a stretch, but I’d won the Junior Grand Prix, and my jumps were already a lot cleaner than his. A lot tighter. All I had to do was get my choreography in check, work on the evolving skate stories, and come up with a routine better than his. That couldn’t be too hard. “Yeah. I’ll bring back gold, he can bring silver, da?”

Chuckling, Coach put his arm around my shoulders, but kept his gaze fixed on the black lycra suit as Sasha set up for a triple toe loop. “Vitya. Finish this season first, then we talk.”

He landed the jump with beautiful follow through, leg extended, arms out, gliding backward in an effortless arc that had the crowd fired up. It turned into a step sequence with a changeover, which he carried out to wild applause and the rolling of my eyes. I’d seen the routine a hundred thousand times before; if they knew how many times he’d flubbed that… 

And really, it wasn’t  _ that _ impressive. 

Still, he finished with very few technical flaws and the high score that everyone expected. I waited at the barrier with the water, and offered it to Sasha when he came off the ice. He took one look at the bottle, then one look at me, before turning away and to Coach for the skate guards, ignoring me entirely on his way to the kiss and cry. 

Coach took the bottle from me, instead, leaving me behind. 

I was only an assistant, after all, so I watched from the sidelines, behind the press. Sasha kept that same smile, Coach looked proud as ever. 

He won gold. He took to the podium. He was a natural. 

In the interviews, just as before, he answered each question with a diplomatic responses and little nods, making eye contact, but never giving anything personal away. It was just like he was at the rink- closed off, intensely private -but with a shiny wrapper. The media didn’t even seem to notice that they weren’t getting anything at all from him, and Coach didn’t seem to mind, either. 

He was vague. Aloof. But he smiled. That was all they cared about. 

“Sasha,” I called after him when he was finished, walking back for his track bag at the bench. “Are you ever gonna give a straight answer?”

Sasha turned his gaze on me, cool as it ever was at our home rink, and blew a puff of air in my face. “Maybe if you ever ask the right questions, Viktor.” 

He went back to the bag.

“Well… why didn’t you take the water bottle from me? After your Free Skate?”

“Because,” he said, leaving it at that at first, zipping the bag closed and hefting it up onto his shoulder. Then he looked around, squinting as he searched the milling remainder of press and athletes, coaches and family members. 

I waited for him to continue, setting my jaw, hands on my hips. “Well?”

He angled his hip and let the bag rest on it, leveling a flat stare down at me. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah, I really wanna know.”

“Fine. Truth is, I’m not here to babysit, Viktor.”

“Babysit?” I laughed. And boiled. “Excuse me? You’re the one who’s too good to even take a bottle of water from Coach’s assistant!”

“Yakov doesn’t  _ need _ an assistant, Viktor. He brings you along because he wants you to feel involved, but that doesn’t mean that I have to play. This is my  _ career _ , and you’re still a kid. Got it?”

I tried to come up with a good retort, I really did, but Coach called for him before I could, leaving me staring, helpless, and quiet. 

“Sasha, I need you to sign this for tomorrow’s show.”

“Sure thing, Coach.” Sasha huffed at me again, then patted the top of my head before he walked off to join Coach at the stands. 

It  _ was _ silly for Coach to have an assistant at Nationals; it was a much smaller venue than the other ones that we went to, and had everything self-managed already. Sasha was right. It was just an excuse. And I’d probably known that for a long time. But so what? That didn’t mean he had to be such a jerk. 

I watched them talk; Sasha back to his usual self, where neutral was as good as happy, and Coach with the warmth of a grizzly bear, and the went back and forth about whatever in clipped, businessy sentences. Short, to the point. Neither of them needed to say much to get talking done. Sasha set the bag down to take the clipboard from him, signed the page, and handed it back. 

Then, while Coach went over the pages underneath, he tugged the medal out from under his jacket, pulled it off over his head, and folded the ribbon over it. Coach didn’t even look at him, just held his hand out for it, like they’d done the exchange a hundred times. Sasha handed it over, and picked up the bag again while Coach dropped the medal in his coat pocket. 

Coach had never asked for any of my medals before. 

What did that mean?

 

I broached the topic after we got back to the room, showers taken, pajamas on, and Coach was comfortably settled with his vodka and remote to find the best candidate for the Soap Opera Megaverse of the night. 

"Coach..."

He hummed to show that he was listening, but his focus stayed on the television screen. It would be harder to find something suitable to watch since we were in Russia, but he wasn't one to give up easily. Somewhere, in the vast expanse nearly unwatchable hotel cable, there had to be a foreign language soap to keep us entertained.

I threaded fingers through the still-damp locks of hair on my shoulder, dark, steely grey with strands of pigment-less white, and parting it into three. "Did Sasha give you his medal? Back at the venue..."

The television screen flickered with each changing channel, casting the room in a kaleidoscope of color. 

"For safekeeping, yes."

I watched him drink, staying his hand on the remote to evaluate the actors on screen. "Why?"

"I just said, Vitya. Safekeeping." He changed the channel. "Americans..."

I looked back to the TV. English was too easy to follow for Coach. It ruined the game. 

With a sigh, I began a loose braid. It'd leave my hair wavy by morning, which would be lovely for the trip home. Like a princess. Like me. "Sasha doesn't like me." 

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"You did say he was your rival."

I frowned, twisting a clump of hair around my finger. "What's his story, anyway, Coach? Why is he so... you know... grumpy all the time? Did I do something wrong?"

Coach sighed that time, and set the remote down, relenting with the station back on the American drama. "It's not my story to tell, Vitya. But you don't need to worry about it. Look, that Janet is up to something, da?"

The blonde woman on screen had an arm full of flowers and a face full of tears. That was certainly something, all right. I wriggled back into the pillows against the headboard and stretched out my leg, toes pointed, and went back to braiding. Coach never answered questions he didn't want to. He was even more tight-lipped than Sasha. "She's probably looking for Jennifer... or John..." 

"Juanita." 

"Jaaasper."

Coach chuckled, and poured himself another shot. 

I was still his favorite.


	3. Out With the Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor attends a Sponsor Benefit party for New Year's Eve and meets a boy- The Boy -with whom he is quite charmed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also from [Chapter 19's Flashback.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8997835/chapters/26025333)
> 
> **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Jen ne veux pas de toi_ \- Joyce Jonathan

I normally spent New Year’s eve with my aunt and uncle, kicking off the first of the winter holidays. We never went out, but there was always a lot of food and, often enough, my cousins would come with their kids. It always got loud, no matter how many people were over, and it always went until waaay too late. So when Coach said that there was a party being held in honor of our win at the Grand Prix, I was all over it.

Coach picked me up from the Academy, ready to go with suitcase in hand- I still had to spend the holiday with my relatives, that wasn’t optional -dressed in the nicest dress slacks, blazer, and turtleneck I owned. It wasn’t exactly a suit and tie, but that would have been almost as bad as wearing a dress all evening. No thanks!

“You look lovely,” Coach said, taking my suitcase with one hand and holding the door for me with the other.

I gave him my biggest smile and hopped into the car, remembering only when my medal thumped against my hip that I’d stowed it away to take it along. I’d need to be more careful if I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Too much bouncing and it’d clank against the car door. I settled more carefully, and put on my seatbelt. “Thank you, Coach.”

He closed the door for me, and put my suitcase in the trunk.

The drive to the hotel wasn’t long, but fraught with danger as all of Russia came out to celebrate the evening in the streets of Saint Petersburg. Somehow, we made it to the hotel in one piece, and Coach led me to where I could put my coat. It was a much fancier place than we ever stayed in; the kind just meant for parties and movies, probably. One of Sasha’s oldest sponsors was hosting, and they had the money for that sort of thing.

“Now, Vitya,” Coach put a hand on my shoulder as he walked me down the hallway and toward the grand ballroom- at least, that’s what the engraved map on the wall indicated. “I need you to be on your best behavior, socialize, get to know everyone. This is an opportunity to get a sponsor of your own for the coming season and years to come. It could change things for you. As a gold medalist...”

“Coach Feltsman!”

“Oh, this must be Vitya!”

“Mr. Nikiforov, a pleasure!”

We hadn’t even made it into the ballroom before we were attacked, and in seconds, the vultures had picked our bones clean. Coach did his best to field most of the harder questions, but I had no idea what most of them were even talking about. I could, at least, shake their hands.

And talk about ballet.

And skating.

Any remembering that I was supposed to do, though, went right over my head. There was praise, there were questions, and there were all sorts of names, and in the end, there was a lot of talk about Sasha.

Sasha who, when I managed to get a glance of, had a crowd of suits and floor-length gowns hanging on his every word at one corner of the room. He made it look so easy, scattering sparse information like little breadcrumbs to eager pigeons. They ate it right out of his hand, and he didn’t even look happy about it; just mildly amused.

Meanwhile, I was drowning. And that had my attention wandering away like little stray lambs on the hillside… prey to the money wolves that surrounded me, the little shepherd with no idea who to pursue and who to abandon.

“Vitya, go find some food. Mingle.”

I abandoned the field and looked up at Coach, who smiled back at me in sympathy.

He'd always been good at reading me when I was getting anxious, and now was no exception. “Okay, Coach.”

I wasn't going to wait for him to ask twice, or chance being caught by another group of Coach's important friends for more ‘catching up.’ I escaped with one quick nod, turning tail and slipping through the crowd without any further delay. Maybe I wasn’t so good at money talk, but I _was_ fast, and that was always useful.

Food and mingling. Neither of them sounded good. There were way too many people around, and though I had my doubts that any of them were watching too closely, I still felt too exposed. I browsed the banquet tables for due diligence and, finding that my stomach was still twisted in knots, picked up a delicate flute of pink champagne from the edge of the table in lieu of anything else.

Satisfied with such a pretty thing to keep my hands busy, I moved to the outskirts and began a long sweep around the ballroom to observe, wandering around columns with my daydreams close at hand. Had this been any other time or place, a handsome prince might have pursued my hand for a dance on the polished wood floor.

_“Your hand, my princess?”_

_“Hm?”_  I’d have to be coy, letting my gaze move over him so subtly with only the hint of a smile before offering my hand. “ _Of course.”_

We’d step out to the center of the floor, with all of the business people moving aside to make room, and someone would take the champagne from me, letting me move into the perfect starting pose for the waltz while the orchestra began. Then, we’d take our first steps into an incredible dance, capturing the attention of all present.

_“Oh, but Vitya is a dancer, too? We should have known with how well he skates… So elegant! Amazing!”_

_“Just like a princess!”_

_“Yes, just like that!”_

Not that I’d pay any mind to the admiration of the crowd, so lost in the eyes of my prince, leading me through the steps even though I knew them even better than he did. And he’d know that, too, but smile so sweetly, because whoever leads gets to steal the first ki-

“Vitya! There you are.”

I fell out of the fantasy and into cold, harsh reality in the form of my ex-roommate. I’d recognize his voice and condescending tone anywhere in an instant. The knots from earlier twisted, every fiber tight to the point of snapping. But I turned to face him, anyway. “Gavrik. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, smirked, and leaned against the column with his own little glass of champagne, which he took a quick sip from before explaining. Unlike me, he _did_ wear a suit and tie, and he looked very nice in it. Mature. Hair slicked back, posture relaxed. But he _belonged_ with these people. They were his type of crowd. “My parents came to visit from Moscow for the holidays, and since we saw your win at the Grand Prix Final, we put feelers out… found out about the benefit, and…”

“...got yourself invited?” Of _course._ Of course he would just invite himself to the one fancy party that I’d get to go to. That was just like him, that arrogant, selfish, jerk!

“Well. It wasn’t as if it was hard. This _is_ a part for sponsors, and my parents-”

I cut it him off. “Why?”

He blinked at me, smile faltering, but only for a second. It was almost impossible to get him to to catch him in a _faux pas_. “I thought it was obvious, Vitya. Why else would we come?”

“I don’t know, Gavrik,” I said, using my best impersonation of a cold Sasha-style glare. “To tell me I’m stupid?”

He frowned. “Vitya, if this is about my changing rooms…”

“Changing _roommates,_ ” I laughed. I wanted him to admit it. The reason why he left. All the times he accused me of being… well, and I _wasn’t._ I’m _not._ But he left anyway.

“It was complicated, Vitya.”

“No. It wasn’t.” I could have broken the stem of the champagne flute. Gotten blood and glass everywhere. I could have thrown the champagne in his face. Or the whole thing, for that matter. Maybe I should have. Instead, I shifted my gaze to the Gavrik’s ear. I couldn’t stand his eyes. I’d cared too much about the way they’d light up when I could surprise him, rare an occasion though it was, and it hurt. How he left without even saying goodbye while I was getting my _first_ medal. I huffed. “You and I know _exactly_ why you left, so don’t try to pretend that you’re my friend _now._ ”

Gavrik said nothing, just watched me. Studying my face like he had so many times before. And I’d studied _him_ enough times to know that he was worried.

_Good._

I rolled onto the balls of my feet and straightened my back, chin up, chest out, eyes narrowed. He was still taller, but that didn’t matter. I could posture if I wanted to, and I was done with him. “I’m a Grand Prix Champion, Gavrik. I’ve got _gold_ under my belt… and _I_ don’t have time for _you._ ”

When the words were out, I turned heel and stalked away without looking back. There would be no show of weakness from me. None that Gav could see, anyway. I looked for Coach, but he was busy entertaining people still, seated at a table with several others drinking what was probably vodka. _Of course._

There were a few others from the team, too, but they were also successfully mingling. Or eating. Everyone was doing the party thing and having a grand old time. Except me and my little glass of champagne. And hopefully Gavrik, but I didn’t want to think about him any more.

I milled through the adults, small and unimportant despite the gold in my pocket, all too aware of the hours left before Coach would take me ‘home’ - just one exhausting event after another. Could I avoid Gavrik? Or the industrial brokers that had son-in-laws that worked in… where was it, again? I couldn’t remember. I didn’t want to. I just wanted to go to bed.

But it was then, in my moment of deepest, darkest despair that I saw _him._

He was perched in a chair at an otherwise empty table with a book several inches thick, bent over as if he were actually _eating_ the words within. The boy, cute and seventeen or so, probably came from money given his suit, but he didn’t wear it the way Gavrik did. His tie was loose, suit jacket unbuttoned, chestnut hair long enough to hang in his face, furled over one of his eyes. The other was pale blue, or maybe green. Hazel. And he was frowning the way someone did when they were deep in thought.

This boy had no time for networking or social climbing; that book was way more important. Obviously.

_Amazing…_

How did he get here? Who was he? Why was he here in the first place? Were his parents sponsors? Guests? Maybe he was a skater, too…  No, he didn’t quite have the frame for it. Maybe.

I had to know.

After a quick check of my hair, I took a sip of champagne and approached with as much charm and grace as I possessed, smile soft and warm. He noticed only when I reached the table, suspicious brow rising, but I countered with a gracious nod and an even sweeter turn of my lips. “Hi.”

It caught him off guard. “...Hello?”

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov,” I said, though I was certain that there was no need for introductions. It was only polite, though, and gave him the opportunity to introduce himself, too. And I so desperately wanted his name.

“Viktor…” he said, still frowning. “Are you-?”

Maybe he didn’t know. It could have been Sasha that he was familiar with. Disappointing, but understandable. My lips thinned. “The figure skater, yeah. I won gold in the Junior Grand Prix. Two gold medals for Russia this year!” I lifted my champagne in salute.

“Skating,” he repeated, setting the book down, still confused.

“Yeah.” The benefit was _for_ skating, yet somehow, the mysterious bookworm had missed the memo. He must have been dragged by his parents. I had to sympathize; it was just the sort of thing my aunt and uncle would have done. Even though it lost any sort of clout I had with him, it at least established a ready-made kinship.

“Are you trans?”

Was I…

It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked, but definitely the first time it’d been so blunt and soon in polite conversation. I stared, immediate heat making my cheeks match the champagne in my hands. I shook my head, forcing my smile back into its place. “No. I’m…” There was no easy way to explain it, and no way I was going to try to with a more-or-less perfect stranger, so I went with the most succinct answer there was: “I’m just Viktor.”

“Oh.” He didn’t get it, but it didn’t seem to matter, cause he held out his hand after. “Nikodim Yermolai.”

Thank god. Not only had he dropped the subject, but he’d given me his name.

I took his hand, just his fingers at first, and brushed his fingertips between mine while watching his face until he blushed, then gave him a full and proper handshake. His hand was warm and soft, not calloused in any way. Well, except that he could have used some moisturizer, maybe. A regular boy. Cute boy. “I’ll call you Niko.”

“Niko?”

I let go of his hand and turned to the book, pulling up a chair right next to him. I didn’t have to explain my nickname, just like I didn’t have to explain the mystery that was Viktor Nikiforov. “The Wheel of Time?”

He explained that it was a fantasy book imported from the United States, because there was only one book from the series translated in Russian so far. Epic fantasy, and he was reading it in English. Cute.

I asked questions about the story, and he tried his best to explain the plot, the hundreds of subplots, all fifty thousand characters, how all of the books fit together, and why it was the best book series of all time, but I wasn’t really sure what he was talking about most of the time. It wasn’t that I wasn’t paying attention; I was definitely watching his mouth as he talked. But somehow, the more he talked, the more comfortable I got, and the less I was able to keep track of all of the details.

Little by little, my champagne disappeared. At one point, he got up and brought us back food, and I even picked at it a little. But by and by, Niko, _the boy,_ who was seventeen, lived in Moscow, went to high school, told me about how he liked to read, was taking a class in photography, and was looking forward to college. He didn’t know what he would do after that; his parents had _ideas_ for him, but he hoped he could figure it out on his own.

I hope Gavrik saw us talking. I hope it bothered him.  

“You’re _so_ cute, Niko,” I might have said at some point, half against him, half against the table. I was so tired. It was too late for someone who got up as early as I did to be up. Even on New Year’s Eve. Which is probably how I’d lost track of time and drifted off, too. Not like I could help it.

Niko was warm. Niko was comfortable.

Best of all, Niko was quiet.

There was no talk about money or pedigree. In fact, he didn’t ask me hardly anything at all. It didn’t matter to him that I’d won gold, or if Sasha was my rival. He didn’t even seem to know who Sasha was, except that he was a skater. He didn’t care. I was just a regular boy to him- sort of -and there were no pretenses whatsoever.

It was wonderful.

I woke to the screams and shouts of excitement at midnight, startled and confused. “What? What’s happening?!”

“Midnight. You missed the presidential address. They’re doing herring now.”

I slumped back in my seat and rubbed my eyes. My aunt and uncle were probably in the yard at that very moment to watch the fireworks, just waiting for their little nephew to come home so they, too, could break into the herring, even though it was way too late to be eating anything.

Outside, the giant windows of the ballroom came alive with the vibrant colors of the fireworks that burst overhead. Saint Petersburg always went all out down town. There was never an end to it. New year, new possibilities. Father Frost on his way.

“Uh. Don’t fall asleep again, Vitya…” Niko touched my shoulder, nudging me. “Is ‘Vitya’ what I should call you?”

I turned my sleepy gaze on him, cheek coming to rest on his hand, and gave a lazy smile. “Unless you can come up with something better,” I said, then yawned, and only barely remembered to cover my mouth. It was so hard to be flirty when tired.

Niko recaptured his hand with a little effort, face red all over again. “Maybe I should call you Mishka… you’re like a little bear, so sleepy.”

“I can’t help it. It’s late, and it’s so dark in the winter.”

“You should be hibernating, then.”

I laughed, but had to stop to yawn again. “I’m not gonna lie, that sounds really nice. Maybe wake up for competitions.”

“And for herring?”

I blinked at him. The herring… “Sure. That, too. Hey, Niko. Can I get your number?”

“Huh?”

Maybe it was too bold. Too forward. But if it was, at least Niko would be going back to Moscow and I’d never have to see him again. The embarrassment wouldn’t matter. On the other hand, if he _did_ give me his number…  “To text. You… have a cell phone, right?”

“Oh. I guess. I left it in the hotel, though.”

“That’s okay,” I pressed, smile as gentle as I could make it as I got my mobile out to add him to the contact list. “I just need your number.”

He gave it, then confirmed it when I showed him my phone. I then wrote my name and number on a napkin, adding ‘Mishka’ in quotes that looked a little bit like hearts that I slid over to him, which he folded and put into his pocket. The blush looked good on him. He was fun to fluster.

Coach came to collect me not long after, and Niko walked us both out to the car. It couldn’t have been more perfect- or romantic. No kiss, but we’d only just met, and I needed Coach to approve of him first, anyway.

He teased me about it in the car, and I loved every second of it. The cute boy I’d met at the fancy benefit called me Mishka, and we’d exchanged numbers. I’d made him laugh a few times and blush, too. He’d talked to me when he had sequestered himself away from everyone else at the party. I was special, and not because I was a gold medal champion, but because I was _me._

“By the way, you impressed a sponsor and you didn’t even have to talk to them.”

“Wait, what?” Oh, no. The whole point of the benefit was to get sponsors, not boyfriends! “I fell asleep… I’m sorry, Coach!”

“We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“...okay.”

Coach always spent New Years with Lilia, and that night would be no different once he dropped me off. If he wasn’t worried about the sponsors, then I probably didn’t need to be, either. At least, not yet. I had to get through dealing with my family first. Holidays were never as fun as they sounded like they were going to be.

I must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing I knew, the car was stopped and Coach was waking me up, saying he was going to get my suitcase. It was time to submit to extended familial torture. I unbuckled my seatbelt and moved to get out and into the cold, then paused- oh! The medal!

“Oh wait, right… Coach? I almost forgot.” I dug it out of my coat, wrapped up in a handkerchief, and held it out to him. “Here. For you.”

He took it, bewildered, and untucked the pale blue cloth until the glint of gold shone at him. “This is your…”

I cut him off, nodding. “Yeah, I want you to have it.” I wouldn’t have been able to stand any comparisons to Sasha. For safekeeping? No way. It was a tribute. Part of reverence.

“But your first gold… it’s important, Vitya.”

“I’ll get more. Lots more. And besides, you worked harder than anyone to get me here, didn’t you?”

Coach only had weak protests after that, and accepted the medal with a chuckle and a grim smile. He didn’t want to encourage it, but he was touched. Good. Sasha wasn’t the only one who could show his gratitude. And I was sincere.

He put the medal away in his own coat, just like he’d done with Sasha’s, and once more left to retrieve my suitcase.  Maybe it was a little mean to not even want to show the gold to my aunt and uncle, but they hadn’t come to see me skate for years, not even at practice. They were busy people, and I got that. But if anyone deserved my first gold, it was Coach.

My aunt and uncle greeted us at the door.

“Vitya! Finally! Come in, come in!”

“We’ve just got the caviar out!”

“And the herrings!”

I shot a pleading glance back at Coach, but he pushed me forward and into the house. As much as I’m sure Coach _wanted_ to save me, he still had other plans, and my relatives had legal claim.

Unfortunate.

“Thanks for bringing him home, Coach Feltsman!” they said, waving to him as they dragged me the rest of the way. “Did you have fun at your party?”

“Yeah,” I said, with one last longing glance back at the closing door. “Can I just go to bed?”

“No, silly! You’re going to celebrate with us!”

“Okay, but I’m celebrating on the couch. Curled up. With a blanket and a pillow.”

“Oh, Vitya…”


	4. Butts and Homework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor participates in the Junior-level Russian Nationals, but everything is ruined by homework, homework, and more homework.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Serenade in C Major, Op. 48: II. Valse: Moderato_ \- Tchaikovsky

When the holidays were over, exams kicked into high gear. If I wasn’t studying for some stupid test, I was practicing for one of four recitals. It was never just ballet, either; it was modern, ballroom, and piano, too. The dancing I could do, but I had absolutely no talent when it came to reading music. Understanding the compositional theory, sure. That was just mapping out notes on the chart and analyzing the rhythm. Music was math. It was science. Trying to read it and get my hands to play it, though, that was another story. Sight-reading just didn’t work. 

I could take a bad grade in Classical Piano, though, as long as everything else was great. French was a lot easier now that I kept in regular contact with Fifi, and with Feliks tutoring me, and I mostly didn’t fall asleep in History. Tests were easy, and I usually turned in my homework for the rest of my classes. 

...Vaganova was a ballet academy. Excellence in dance should be enough to keep my place. 

Of course, during all of this, was Junior Nationals, which I used every other spare moment I had to practice for. It was the weekend before all of my final exams for the semester, and the only way that Coach was able to get me out of class for the days prior was to promise that he’d make me study in the down time. Which he did.

_ Every  _ spare moment. 

Which was especially annoying because it was being held in  Odintsovo, which was just forty-five minutes from the downtown metropolitan area of Moscow and, more importantly, where Niko- aka  _ The Boy _ -lived. Not that it mattered, though; I had no way of getting there, and, if my sources were correct,  _ The Boy’s _ mama (and my sponsor?!) would be attending the competition. Which meant that  _ he _ might be attending, too. 

So even though he hadn’t texted me yet, it wouldn’t matter. And honestly, the holidays were busy times, and he had exams, too. It was a bad time for romance. Valentine’s was just around the corner, though. Another meeting was the perfect time to rekindle the flame and get things back on track. 

I sat on the bed closest to the window, books spread in front of me, notepad and pencil in hand, while Coach sipped his vodka, reading a book of his own; some kind of paperback thriller with the cover falling off. 

“Coach,” I whined.

“Vitya, keep working on it,” he said without looking.

“Please, Coach.” I bowed over the assignments, rubbing my eyes with both hands. “I’m gonna die if I have to keep doing this. I want to go to the gym.”

“No, keep studying.”

“But I wanna go swim in the hotel pool.”

“It’s January. Work on your essay.”

“Coach.”

“Vitya.”

I bent over, fingers to toes, nose to the mattress between my knees, forehead on the open textbook, and went limp. “I caaaan’t do it, Coach. I can’t. I’m dying.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I wanna go run around.”

“Study.”

“We could get ice cream.”

I heard the rustle of paper as he closed the book over his thumb, then a sort of soft  _ whoosh  _ before the thump of a pillow that flopped on top of me, then toppled over and to my side. I turned my head, and stretched over enough to lay over my leg, pouting at him over my shin. 

“Coach.” 

“Your aunt and uncle won’t pay for my coaching fees if they have to pay for your other expenses, Vitya. Your schooling is important. Without the Academy, there is no skating. You know this.”

I looked back at the books and gave a long and exaggerated sigh, then picked up the pencil again. “Fiiiiine.” 

We didn’t even get to watch the Soap Opera Megaverse. 

Instead, I studied until my brains turned to mush, then slept horribly, got up for warm ups and practice, and was forced to work on my essays while sitting in the stands, waiting between other groups. It was the worst competition of my life; even more than Croatia during the Grand Prix last fall, when I’d sort of fainted during warm ups and Coach almost forced me to withdraw. The embarrassment had been one thing, but Coach lecturing me was ten times worse. And if I didn’t get all of this homework done, I was definitely in for more. 

Were the other juniors having to study at the competition, too? I didn’t see any textbooks out at the rink, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t having to focus at night. It couldn’t have just been me. 

When it was my turn to go on for the Short Program, I did a quick jog in the tunnel to warm back up. All of the studying and thinking about studying had just made all of my muscles tired. Normally I got to run around as much as I wanted to at these things, and being forced to sit and stay had me wanting to chew on the furniture like some kind of terrier. 

“Now remember, Vitya,” Coach said, taking my jacket from me as I rolled my shoulders over and over again, shaking limbs out. “You are Viktor Nikiforov. You take what you want.”

“Right. Yeah. Yeah.” What I wanted was to skate like crazy and then run wild in the streets. Would Coach mind if I did well? Maybe just for ten minutes? An hour? At least I didn’t feel nervous. Not at all. I leaned against the barrier and slipped the skate guards off, handing them back without looking. “What I want. Got it.”

“Focus, Vitya.” 

“Yep. Got it, Coach.” 

_ Focus. Focus. Focus. _

I moved out onto the ice, putting extra pressure against it for speed and to get the burn going in my thighs. It was time to work. My piece was Tchaikovsky’s _ Serenade in C Major, Op. 48: II. Valse: Moderato, _ which began moments after I took my starting pose. The program itself was pretty straight forward; everyone knew that the Free Skate was where most of the points were stacked, but I’d tried to throw in as many easy point-grabbing tricks as I could think of. The points scored at the start might have seemed insignificant, but they could mean the difference between breaking a tie or not, and they always carried over in the Prix. It was always worth doing your very best. 

That said, it wasn’t nearly as spectacular as  _ The Wishing Star.  _ My costume was simple matte grey leggings under white vest with long coat tails- my favorite part -and pale lavender sleeves made of chiffon that only came to my elbows. They were so loose, though; Fifi called them  _ Hanfu _ style, and meant to hold as many tiny dogs as possible. I didn’t know if that was true or not, but it had nothing to do with the story that I was telling at all, which was all about a prince consumed by the search for his fate. 

I’d never tell my roommate or former roommate, but the prince in the narrative was largely based on  _ them  _ as much as it was on Ivan, foolishly going around and around in aimless circles, watching the heavens and the roving hills. 

_ Oh where, oh where could my princess be? Oh where is my fortune? Oh please, fate, find me. Oh I do hope that someone comes and tells me what to do, because I’m so clueless and can’t possibly decide for myself! Whatever will the stars tell me? Is it fate? Is it my horoscope? Whatever shall I do? Oh no, oh no! Perpetual anxiety for no reason! _

It was supposed to be a little bit silly, Russian fairytale folded in with one of Aesop’s fables about the Astronomer, which included serious consequences: focusing too much on the future and not enough on the present, falling into a pit. But of course, Ivan had the help of the grey wolf and the horse in his stories, so not all was lost. Triumphant prince! Free to follow his shooting star once more. 

Maybe it was a little bit mean, but it always made me feel better to skate it, so by the end, I was breathless and happy to hear the applause, making reverence with my bows, curtsies, and kisses to Coach and the audience. 

As soon as I got my skate guards back on, Coach handed me a notebook, then ushered me to the kiss and cry, ignoring my squeaks of protest. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” 

But he wasn’t, and I found myself staring down at the draft of my essay, smudged handwriting at all, while waiting for my scores to come in. 

I was in first. So far. By a healthy margin. 

Coach had me talk to the press, but only briefly, before walking me out to the foyer; it was time to get back to work. 

“Don’t I at least get to watch the other skaters?”

“They’re done now.”

“But the ladies-” 

“Don’t affect you.”

“Coaaaach…” 

He’d never been so stern or stubborn before. It was enough to drive a person mad! 

“Vitya! Your skating was beautiful. Oh, Coach Feltsman, you must be so proud.” 

Coach and I stopped dead in our tracks and turned to look at the woman approaching, dressed in blue coat with a red-lipped smile, chestnut hair in shoulder-length curls. 

“Ah, Olya, good to see you again,” said Coach, and offered his hand to her. “Vitya, this is your sponsor. You remember we discussed-”

I gaped. Yes, of course I remembered. Niko’s mama. She was beautiful. The same hazel eyes, too. She’d really come to see me skate. “Tetya Olya! Hello! How are you? How’s Niko? I haven’t heard from him since the party! Is he studying for exams, too?!”

She blinked at me, and I worried that maybe I’d been a little too forward, but then she laughed. “Oh, Vitya. Yes, Kodyasha has been buried in books for weeks. I was so pleased that he’d made a friend at the benefit. You’re so sweet, my dear. How kind of you to ask about him.” 

She thought I was sweet! And Niko was just busy! Such a relief. “Is he here?”

“Sorry, no. He’s been so busy studying…” 

Coach set a hand on my shoulder. “Speaking of, Vitya has a pile of homework to get done this weekend before he returns to the Academy.”

“But Coach.”  Tetya Olya, Mama of Niko, had intel that could only be gained through talking to her. Surely he had to understand that. I gave him a pleading look. “Can’t it wait a little bit?”

“I don’t want to get in the way of your studies, Vitya. They’re very important.”

“You see?” Coach said, expression nothing short of the epitome of all that is smug and evil in the world. “She agrees with me.”

Academia, the enemy of love and freedom. Brow furrowed, I considered making a break for it, but chewed on my lower lip instead, searching for a plan b. “Tetya Olya, can I get your address?”

“My address?”

“Yeah! I want to send Niko something in the mail.”

She laughed, said “Sure,” and took my notebook to write her home address down for me. “Good luck tomorrow, Vitya! I can’t wait to see you skate again.”

“Thank you,” I said, clutching the now infinitely more precious notebook to my chest. “I’ll do my very best!”

“Come on, Vitya.” 

 

Coach kept me on track, even though it made me numb from head to toe, and I passed out on my essay twice before he let me go to bed. The next day was more of the same, but I managed to squeeze a little more exercise in for good behavior. 

Then I lost. 

Not… completely. Silver, again. For one hand down on a triple toe loop that I tried to turn into a quad at the last moment. If I’d landed it, it would have put me in first. If I’d hit the ice any harder, I probably would have broken my arm or worse. 

Coach wasn’t happy. 

I wasn’t happy. 

Tetya Olya was, though, and so relieved that I wasn’t hurt. She brought me flowers, too. Roses. Not blue ones, but they were still really pretty, and I cried a little bit and hugged her. She said I’d be fine for Junior Worlds. 

I knew I would be. 

The Popovich boy who took gold had been next to me on the podium at the Grand Prix Final with silver. With positions reversed, it was harder to share the same sentiment of sportsmanship, even though, of course, Russia was still winning. But then, it was Nationals, so of course Russia was getting the gold. It would have to. That was the point. 

I’d shaken his hand anyway, little smile on my face instead of the bright one that I’d worn in The Netherlands, and congratulated him. 

“Thanks,” he said, but there was something nervous behind his eyes. Like he couldn’t quite trust me. 

That was probably fair. Unlike Sasha, this Georgi kid really was my rival. 

I let go of his hand. “See you at Jr Worlds, Gosha.”

“Yeah. See you, Vitya.”

 

The pep talks were sparse and mostly in the form of grunts and comments about how i should have stuck with the original program. No full-on lectures, but it was enough. I worked on my homework without complaint, too upset to do anything else, and was utterly exhausted by the time we flew home. 

Then it was time to start typing up my essays, take the exams, do the recitals, and finish up the semester. 

The silver medal ended up on a peg on the wall next to the others under my little shelf, where I promptly ignored it. The only time I remembered it was when I’d roll over and bump into it, which usually happened while I was complaining or otherwise rambling to Feliks while flopped on my bed. 

“Feliks,” I said, looking at my cell phone for the hundredth time that evening. 

“Hm?”

“I’ve been thinking about Valentine’s Day.”

He perked up immediately, setting his own textbook aside. “Oh yeah?”

No one liked talking about romance and everything of that ilk more than Feliks. He was a ladies’ man to the nth degree. I usually ignored his comments about the subject, which had convinced him that I was a late bloomer, but he had never given up hope that I might, one day, join him in the quest for company of the fairer sex.

How he’d missed that I wasn’t… like him I’ll never know, but he’d never claimed to be particularly brilliant, either, so I guess it’s okay. 

“Yeah. I think I have a plan for it, but I can’t get started until after exams.”

“Vitya,” he gasped. “Do you… have a  _ crush?  _ Finally?”

I shrugged, but I knew I was blushing already. 

“Who is she?!”

“They don’t go to this school, so it’s off campus.”

“I’m… I’m so proud! Vitya! That’s…” He clutched the fabric of his tank top over his chest with one hand and made a fist with the other, raising it toward the ceiling. “Today, you become a man!”

I tapped the medal with my big toe, letting it clunk against the wall with nervous rhythm. “It’s been almost a month, actually.” 

“So you met her at the party!”

I shrugged again. 

“Here I was hoping we could prowl the campus together and I could show you how to flirt and seduce, but I guess it’s just as well… I’ll probably have a girlfriend by the end of the month anyway. I always do for Valentine’s Day.”

That was true. At least from what he’d told me, and last year. Feliks had gone through a couple of different girlfriends, both ballerinas of course, but drama always followed. 

I wasn’t sure I needed his advice. 

“Yeah, that’s okay.” 

...except. 

“Hey, Feliks? One other thing...”

“Yep.” He leaned over the edge of his bed as if it would make a difference in the five feet between us. 

I tapped the medal again, turning my eyes to the ceiling. “What’s so great about butts, anyway?”

Feliks snapped the textbook closed. “Oh Vitya, my little buddy, my little pal. You lucky dog. You are in for a world of new wonders. So many things are about to change for you.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. “Uhm.”

“Butts are  _ amazing.”  _

He’d said as much before. “Yes, but  _ why?” _

“I can’t believe you even have to ask, Vitya.” He sighed. “Okay, point one: aesthetics. They’re cute. Soft. Round. They come in all different shapes and sizes and they’re all  _ great. _ From the muscled athletic types to the gooey homebodies, all butts are never not beautiful.”

I nodded, and stretched out to pick up my pen from where I’d discarded it earlier. At least my notebook was close at hand. “Okay, go on,” I said, jotting notes beneath my homework. 

“And everyone knows that ballerinas have the best butts, so we’re sitting on a goldmine here, Vitya.” 

That wasn’t entirely true. Ballerinas had really nice butts, yes, but it was a widely accepted fact that figure skaters had the truly definitive assets. Who had the best of the best? Hmm… 

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Feliks asked, grin shameless. 

I pulled Albert, my unicorn, out from under me and buried my face into his soft, plush mane. “Maybe.”

“Okay, well think about this. Point two: feel. I said they were soft and round, right? Well imagine you’re hugging your sweetheart, and you can reach down, slide your hands over their ass. One cheek for each palm. Give them a good squeeze. So warm. So supple. It’s the best. With or without clothes. Better without, obviously.”

I pressed my face deeper into the unicorn. Oh my god. 

“Point three: pleasure. Did you know that the ass has a ton of nerves and several erogenous zones? Now, not all girls like it, but-”

My pencil snapped in half. Not sure how. “Okay, that’s probably enough, I think I get it!”

“But Vitya, I was just getting to the best part. Not only with fingers, but with-”

“No, no, I’m good, Feliks, thanks!” That time, I buried my face against the mattress, cheeks on fire. Albert couldn’t save me. Nothing could.  I was a goner. Who thought about that kind of stuff? Was it even appropriate for a princess to think about? 

Feliks obviously did.

Was I supposed to? 

Did Niko?

Butts _ were _ cute. I knew that. I’d always known that. And it didn’t take long to figure out whose butt was the cutest, either, even though the answer was clear bias. My idol, the swiss skater Stephane Lambiel. Four years my senior, and I’d seen him skate a hundred times. Perfect form. The best tricks. Always doing something new, like figuring out how to do spins and jumps both clock and counterclockwise.  _ So _ cool. 

And yes, it was just as fun to watch him leave as it was to watch him skate. 

“Suit yourself, Vitya. But you’re going to have a lot of fun with your crush. Just let me know when you need me to get you some protection, okay?”

I screamed into the covers. “FELIKS!”

“Too much too soon?” he laughed. “I guess you’re still a kid after all. Ah well, give it a few months; you’re bound to hit your growth spurt one of these days, and then… Oh, but don’t worry. You’ll always be my little buddy, Vitya.”

“Oh my god, Feliks, stop!”

 

It had been a mistake to tell him, but also a relief for someone to know, even if it was just part of the truth.


	5. Unexpected Rivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The increasing pressure of competition at every turn makes Viktor ever more grateful that he has a secret friend to turn to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IMPORTANT:** My previous short story, [Vitya & the Crumbs of Love,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9716666) happens between the last chapter and this one. It is the story of what happened on Valentine's Day! So please read it if you haven't already. And if you have, you might want to read it again, because I posted it months and months ago! :)
> 
>  
> 
> **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _BLK CLD_ \- XYL0

n.y: wait so dancing is part of your school finals?

Me: well, yeah, I go to a ballet academy

n.y: don’t take this the wrong way, but are you gay?

 

I set my cell phone on the dance mat and pressed my palm against the hardwood floor, stretching my leg until my toe pointed straight up to the ceiling. Gay? How was I supposed to answer that question over text message? And how was I _not_ supposed to take that the wrong way? Gay was always a bad thing in Russia; it didn’t matter who you were. But ballet had nothing to do with that.

Bringing my arms around my leg to pull the stretch through my back with just a little more pressure, I let out another breath, then lowered my leg and moved into the next position. It was a series of yoga stances that were supposed to help us with our performance according to one of our instructors. I wasn’t sure if they really worked, but they were fun to do and easy enough.

“Extended triangle,” she said, and we obeyed.

I reached for my phone again, but thought better of it.

Ballet had a proud and noble history in Russia. Men who did ballet were strong. Manly. Like Feliks. They had to leap high and far, dance for long hours, and lift lady ballerinas high above their heads and hold them in ridiculous poses for extended periods of time. If they didn’t have the strength to do that, people got hurt.

If male ballerinas weren’t strong, they didn’t stay at Vaganova.

Gay, though. I wasn’t gay. But if I said I wasn’t, would Niko think I wasn’t interested in him?

If I said I was, would he refuse to talk to me anymore?

Valentine’s Day had been a success. My handmade card had ended up in his hands, glitter and all. We’d been texting ever since. Just the usual stuff, learning about each other’s days, complaining about homework, nothing fancy. Nothing too flirty, either, even though I got the chest flutters every time my phone vibrated with an incoming message.

_Niko, Niko, Niko…_

What if he wasn’t interested? Or would never be? I knew I was cute- I had girls telling me that often enough in school -but that didn’t mean that Niko would agree. It was entirely possible that he would never like me.

“Balancing stick.”

I took my phone with me as I changed into the next position, and typed out a reply with only a few grievances in form.

 

Me: of course not

Me: ballerinas are tough as heck

Me: you should see me do lifts sometime

 

Though, I wasn’t anywhere near where Feliks was in that department. I could dance en pointe while none of the boys in my grade could, but I was also a lot smaller and lighter than they were, too. When it came to doing lifts, I had a long way to go, and my instructors were sure to point it out every single time we worked on it.

 _You’ll be growing soon,_ they said. _Your body will be changing and you must take advantage of that, work hard and build your muscles so that they can be ready for all that they’re capable of._

Becoming a man, they meant. Lifting instead of being lifted. Bulking up to be able to carry like Feliks did.

My legs were plenty strong. They carried me wherever I wanted to go and did whatever I needed them to do, on the dance floor and on the ice. I was fast, I could do impressive aerial maneuvers, and I could move in any number of intricate ways; whatever I required of it.

I was just a soloist.

Independent.

But if I couldn’t successfully do lifts…

“Vitya, are you texting in class?”

I looked up at my instructor, who stared down at the phone in my outstretched arms. “Uhm. Sorta.”

The girls next to me giggled.

She plucked the phone from my hands and sighed, taking it to her chair at the front of the room. “You may have this back after class. _If_ you pay attention.”

I sagged, but thanked her, grateful that my phone locked automatically. At least there was that mercy. The last thing I needed was for _that_ conversation to get out, even if I _had_ changed Niko’s name in my phone.

“Pssst, Vitya. Are you texting who I think you’re texting?” asked one of the girls.

I blushed, and tried to ignore her.

“Oh my god. It is. That’s so cute.”

“Look at his cheeks. He’s so handsome, too.”

“Vitya. Your hair is so pretty. What shampoo do you use?”

Suddenly, there was a barrage of attention from the girls in class, each of whom seemed to have a different burning question at the tip of their tongue.

“Ladies! Ladies! Leave that young man alone!” The instructor came back, clapping her hands for attention. “Yes, I realize that Mr. Nikiforov is the object of much affection, but this is class and we are working on our production of _The Magic Flute_ , for which none of you are even close to being prepared! Now if you please, back to your places, we must finish warm ups!”

They did, indeed, move back to their places, and I rubbed my neck while I waited for class to resume. One sideways glance caught the eye of Danya, one of the boys I shared several classes with. He frowned at me.

And he wasn’t the only one, either.

All of the other boys in the class were watching.

 

n.y: oh okay. So do you do other kinds of dance, too?

  


Junior Worlds was held in Ostrava in the Czech Republic at the tail end of February. With exams over until May, I was free to be lazy and wild with my time away from the Academy. Thank god. It was definitely needed.

I ran on the treadmill in the hotel gym. I went swimming in the indoor pool. I made Coach go with me outside for a walk and ran circles around him. It was cold and I didn’t care. I needed to move! I was so tired of being cooped up! I was so _tired_ of it being dark! Homework and dancing and pressure and stress! I just wanted to skate and be free!

It took a lot of work to get the the SIM card working on my cell phone, but I managed to get logged on to one of the computers in the business center, at least, and sent emails to Niko at night before it was time to wind down. I told him where I was, though he knew, and how things were going, that I missed talking to him. And I did, too.

He wasn’t the best conversationalist by any means; his texts were always short and kind of unimaginative, but he always replied. He talked to me. He was _my_ friend. He cared about _me._ And he replied to my emails, too.

 

> Mishka-

good job making it to Ostrava alive. I hope you do well in your competition, my mama is really looking forward to seeing you on TV. Try to get gold this time. It’s the best metal you can get in these things since platinum isn’t an option. Why is that?

“Niko”

 

So cute. I could hardly stand it. It wasn’t fair. I had no idea how to answer his question, but I would get gold for him. I had to. There was no way I could lose with him cheering me on, right?

 

“Vitya, it’s time to wake up.”

My body moved like a bucket of garden snails mixed with a sack of slugs, stirred up with marmalade. It was disgusting. And because it was so awful, I couldn’t eat. Not a bite. I sipped tea, something I could almost always keep down, and went over the routines in my head while Coach lectured me about consistency and composition. _Don’t do this_ and _don’t do that._

Most of it just sort of washed over me as my thoughts drifted toward memories of the pillow back in our hotel room. How much nicer it would be if I could just get an extra day to sleep and not think about all of this for a little bit. Just put the world on pause.

I didn’t want to do warm ups; I wanted a nap.

_A nap, a nap, a nap..._

Coach took me by the shoulders and looked me in the eyes and said, “Okay,” then took me back to the room to let me sleep for a little while.

It took only twenty seconds before I was out. Just like that.

Then, just as quickly, he was shaking me awake again. “Come on, Vitya, wake up. We need to get you down for the last warmups and stretches before you go on.”

I’d slept for two hours but it didn’t feel like it at all.

I wanted to cry.

But there wasn’t even time for that. I had to get makeup on. I had to get stretched out and warmed up. We had to get back to the venue.

I rolled out of bed and finished getting ready with Coach standing by.

 

My Short Program put me in fourth.

I hadn’t scored so low in… in… ever. I had no idea what happened. The winner of the Junior Grand Prix in fourth? Fourth…  That wasn’t even a podium place. That wasn’t even a spot in the exhibition gala.

“You’ll make up for it with your Free Skate, Vitya,” said Coach, arm around my shoulders. “You’ll be fine.”

It was an easy program. What had I done wrong? How was I going to _make up for it?_ The Popovich boy was in first. He would stay first. He would beat me again.

“I’m tired,” I said.

“Let’s get you something to eat.”

I shook my head. I only wanted to sleep.

 

Coach forced me to eat breakfast. Toast. Tea. I felt so sick, but then he let me nap again, and that helped. He rubbed my back and that helped, too. For a little while, I managed to think of ancient forests, with dramatic rock faces bursting from trees and twisting paths leading to mysterious valleys. Unicorns, too… long, pearlescent hair just shy of sweeping the soft soil that they trod upon. They sought princesses for companions because of their desire to protect the pure of heart. It was their duty. If I ever met one, I’d weave flowers in its mane and tail, and braid its tresses while riding on its back.

And protect it, too… unicorns have just as many enemies as princesses do. I’d learn to wield a sword to protect my unicorn. No doubt. No one would come between us. Not even the dark wizard-

“Vitya. It’s time to get ready.”

 

Even though I was groggy, I felt a lot better, and skated better, too. But while I landed all of my jumps, and though the announcer called it a “moving performance,” it was only enough to get me to silver yet again.

I stood next to Gosha on the podium, both of us stoic but for what I guessed were entirely different reasons. I didn’t offer to shake his hand, but I did give him a nod. Russia took gold, after all. That was worth celebrating, even if it wasn’t me who took it for her.

Coach answered most of the questions for the press. I had no idea what to say. I was tired. So tired.

“Did you want to answer your emails, Vitya?” he asked when we were finally on the way back to the hotel.

Just the thought of it hurt. I couldn’t face Niko. I couldn’t even get gold, let alone platinum. How was I supposed to answer his email now?

“No,” I said. “I just wanna go to bed.”

 

The season was over, leaving me time to focus on classes without distraction. I had a break from the rink from now until summer, though I still went on Saturday mornings, and devoted the rest of my time to everything else. Especially Niko. Which, not going to lie, was kind of nice after the crushing defeat of my second junior year. Since I’d given my only gold medal to Coach, all I had on my wall were silvers, some bronze, and a few ribbons. At least, as far as skating went.

When it came to dancing, I had plenty of stupid trophies and other ribbons and stuff, but they forced us into competitions all the time, and I didn’t really care about any of them.

That was only sort of a lie. I _did_ care; I loved dancing. All of it. Just not the same way that I loved skating.

 

Me: so do you have a girlfriend or anything?

n.y: no

Me: huh that’s surprising

n.y: what is that?

Me: you’re just really cute, I thought for sure you’d be dating someone

n.y: i’m kind of shy

Me: too bad. They’re missing out :>

n.y: mishka are you flirting with me

Me: haha

n.y: you nerd. Are you dating anyone

Me: nope

n.y: why not? Aren’t you supposed to be hot stuff?

Me: who told you that?

Me: haha

n.y: my mama read it in a magazine. She collects them. There are photo shoots of you from paris

Me: oh

Me: i’m still single  

n.y: go figure

Me: guess I’m shy, too

n.y: lies  

 

“Vitya, will you help me with this samba? I can’t seem to get it right.”

We’d been practicing the steps for the samba for the better part of an hour but the guys still couldn’t get the turns right. I was tired, but they were desperate.

“Sure.” I padded over, dance paws keeping my footsteps nearly silent, and offered my hands.

The boy- Edik -took them and twirled me to start. “How do you know all of the parts, anyway?”

I shrugged, turning out my ankle, then back again, popping a hip, quick step back into place. “Lots and lots of practice with boys who haven’t been paying attention in class, I guess.”

He pulled me back into his arms, then spun me out again. “And you don’t mind?”

“Nope.” I kept on the balls of my feet to keep the shifting weight back and forth light and easy, conserving energy and maximizing the fluidity of my body. It was all about momentum. “It’s fun.”

“Huh.”

I turned my attention to his legs, watching the way his heels met the floor, and frowned. “There’s your problem; you’re not centering your mass in the right-”

“Vitya,” he said, and pulled me close once more, dipping me down low. “Tell me.”

I braced myself against him so I wouldn’t fall, one arm around him, one leg extended out for balance, and stared up at him. This wasn’t part of the routine, but I was adaptable enough to roll with it. “Huh?”

The other guys had stopped to watch us, most of whom I’d danced with before.

Edik ran his hand along my cheek. “Does this turn you on, Vitya? Do you want me to kiss you?”

I blinked. “Uhh… you’re not _that_ good of a dancer.”

He frowned, but the other guys laughed, and it sounded a lot like _relief._

Then he set me on my feet again, and I moved back into the routine, trying to put it out of my mind that it had even happened. Which was an impossible thing to do for several reasons. Embarrassment. Mortification. I was insulted, too. They would have been lucky to have me as their boyfriend. Any of them.

Stupid boys.

“So are we doing the samba or what?!” I barked at him, and he got back to work, too. “Cripes…”

“Sorry, Vitya,” he said, and put a little more care into his footwork. At least he’d paid _some_ attention to my criticism. “It’s just, some of us were wondering about… the girls. They all seem to like you a lot.”

“So?”

“So we want to know if you’re really competition or not.”

“What do you even mean?!”

Edik looked for help, because apparently having a serious conversation while trying to dance with someone who actually knew how was too complicated for him. “Well…”

I stopped him. “No. Seriously. _What?”_

“If you’re gay, you should tell the girls so that they’ll stop chasing you.”

One look around the room confirmed that all of them felt the same. The stupid, stupid boys in the class were all worried about it. About _me_ stealing the girls on campus from them. As if I had anything to do with their lack of finesse.

I sucked in a breath, held it for a moment, then let out a huff. “Look, I can’t control who is and isn’t attracted to me. That’s not my problem. If you guys can’t get a date, that’s on _you_ , not me. I just want to dance, okay? That’s all I’m here for. And if you guys don’t stop thinking with your dicks and _start dancing_ , you’re gonna get kicked out of the Academy.”

They all stared at me, half in surprise, half in shame, justly chided. It felt good, to be the smallest, angriest, and- for once -loudest person in the room. I sniffed, huffed, and went for my track bag.

“Wait, Vitya!” Edik cried. “I really do need help!”

“Yeah, you sure do,” I muttered, hoisting it over my shoulder. “Go talk to a girl for some help if you’re really that desperate. This is a waste of my time.”

“Vitya!”

I stormed off.

 

Without the distractions, I passed my exams. I got the best grades I’d ever gotten, even with texting Niko all the time. Maybe because of that. The girls continued to tease and flirt with me, and the boys were wary. I ignored them all. Feliks was the only one I talked to when I didn’t have to, and he was gone most of the time with his girlfriend.

We’d have another year at Vaganova Academy together. Several of the other guys wouldn’t be coming back. The number of spots available narrowed every year, so being good wasn’t enough. It wasn’t my fault if the wolves weren’t willing to keep up with the pack.

 

n.y: so how did your interview go?

Me: pretty well. I mean i made it so it must have gone okay

n.y: what did they ask? What color your tutu is?

Me: we don’t wear tutus on this track, Niko, only the ladies do

n.y: i’m kidding

Me: no they asked about my career projections and who my heroes were, that sort of thing, what i thought about ethics and hard work. Easy answers about Russian traditional values

n.y: so who are your heroes  

Me: i told them scrooge mcduck

n.y: what

Me: i’m serious

n.y: what

Me: have you ever read the comic

n.y: there’s a comic?

Me: he turned a crappy american dime into billions of dollars despite being screwed over hundreds of times. He had a dream and he never gave up. He kept fighting.

n.y: you’ve given this a lot of thought

Me: and i really like his hat

n.y: wow

n.y: what did they say

Me: they asked if I had any russian heroes

n.y: who are your russian heroes

Me: my coach and tchaikovsky and the president of Vaganova Academy

n.y: good mishka

 

Too cute. Niko was the best company to have, especially with Feliks already gone home for the summer. It was the last day of the semester, and I was already packed up. My aunt and uncle were coming in the afternoon to take me home. That left me with three hours to kill, so what did I do? I went to the rink.

Coach was there, of course, and so was a pair of our ice dancers, working on their routine for some show. That's all they did during the off season. It was good for making money as far as I understood, but could be a slippery slope with the ISU; only amateurs were allowed to compete, after all. If you got paid to perform on a regular basis, you were considered pro.

But really, weren't we all professionals in our own right already? Geez

I stayed on the sidelines working on drills, working through the endless quagmire of program ideas. What theme? Love, maybe?

Young love…

Or adventure.

I was in for a long and boring summer break, but now that I was fifteen, I would be allowed to take the train by myself to the rink instead of having to get rides back and forth between the house.

The long commute would be perfect for texting and planning, and the bus transfers would give me plenty of opportunity to explore the city. Finally, freedom.

It was only three days a week, but I would take what I could get, especially when it meant getting out of the house. And maybe I hadn’t done so well at Nationals or Worlds, but I could use every waking moment to make sure that I was ready for my senior debut.

No more mistakes. It’d be utter perfection.

The new season held so much promise and potential: Fifi was already emailing me about a time to come back to Paris for another photo shoot and consultation; the mornings were bright and and sunny; and Niko, my cute boy, _The Boy,_ was in my pocket.

It was gonna be okay.

Love. Adventure. Freedom. All good themes to play with.

I set up a jump, twisting hard once my toe pick left the ice to turn it into a flip, and nailed the landing with perfect follow through, sailing out with extended leg high and arms out.

“Vitya!” Coach called me from beyond the barrier. “Come.”

I took my time making my way to him between swizzles and crossovers. “What’s up, Coach?”

“Off the ice. In my office.” He held up my guards. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another 5 chapters coming soon! Probably after we get NLA chapter 20 up. :)


	6. Being Replaced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor dosen't cope well with the troubling news that Yakov delivers, even though he's assured that it's for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Welcome to a new bundle! :'D Thanks for your support and patience.  
> Special thanks to Mamodewberry for Yakov + Georgi consulting (and ENDLESS SUPPORT + BETA), Squeeze for additional beta, and ladyegcake for answering my endless culture questions... I don't deserve you guys. <3
> 
>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _The Arena_ \- Lindsey Stirling
> 
> *You can listen to the playlist [here!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbdh3hx058l4Fs6mvYIPD-EnCIkI2pob-)

Coach had me sit in one of the folding chairs against the wall while he closed the door and lumbered over to sit in the old leather executive chair behind the desk. “Vitya,” he said. “We need to talk about this upcoming season.”

Well, that made sense. I kicked my legs back and forth under the seat. “Yeah, we should really start talking about that. I haven’t been doing my idea books yet because I know you have the summer camp coming up, and since I’m gonna be a senior, I won’t have any competitions until October, so I figured I could put it off a little bit. Give you a break.” 

In truth, I’d come up with five different programs to start, but none of the idea books were finished just yet. Final exams had taken up all of my time, and I still needed to narrow down my ideas. But Coach didn’t need to know that. He’d always thought I was a little over-eager, but not this time. 

Not that I wasn’t eager, but he wouldn’t see the fruits of my labor until they were ripe, picked, washed, and turned into a delicious pie.  _ Et voila!, _ I’d say, presenting the polished ideas to him. 

And Coach would be so impressed. 

He frowned at me from across the little office, saying nothing until he was sure that I was finished speaking, then hefted a heavy sigh. “Vitya…” Coach’s gaze moved away from me and to the framed photos behind me, light eyes searching. “You will not be moving on to the senior division this year.” 

“I…” The word escaped my mouth before I could finish processing what he’d said, and then everything dried up in my throat. It just didn’t compute. I blinked twice, hard, and gaped. 

“I know this is going to come as a surprise to you, but I feel it is for the best.”

More blinking, more staring. Coach looked so serious, but it didn’t make any sense. When I finally found my voice, all I could get out was laugh and a stuttered question. “This is a joke, right?”

“It’s not a joke, Vitya. You are still maturing in many ways. It would be best to wait one more year. Refine your strengths, develop your potential. There is no need to rush into the deeper waters.”

I got to my feet. “What do you mean?! I’m old enough, I was the Junior Grand Prix Champion, and I’m better than most everyone in my class! I’m better than most of the seniors, too! How am I supposed to learn if I don’t keep pushing myself, Coach?!”

He sighed again, leaning back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk, pinky to thumb on each hand. It was the way he calmed down before answering ridiculous questions. Knowing that just made me clench my fists. 

“You will still be pushing yourself, but you’ll have a better opportunity for earning points in your overall career if you stay a junior one more year. We have no way of knowing how a growth spurt could change your skill set, Vitya. I don’t want to damage what you’ve cultivated so far.”

Each word was spoken calmly, the same way he always spoke when things were serious. There was an edge to it, sure, but he was in control. It was his ‘no negotiations’ tone. 

“It’s a mistake, Coach!”

“Sit down, Vitya.”

“No! I’m ready to skate with the seniors! I can best them!” 

“Sit down.”

“Why won’t you give me that chance?!”

“I am your coach. I know what is best. You believe in me, don’t you?”

I sat down, holding my arms over my chest with a derisive snort. “This is about Sasha, isn’t it?”

“No, though your attitude with regard to petty rivalries is also in need of maturing.” 

“My what?!”

“There is another thing we need to discuss, Vitya.” Coach pulled a ledger from his desk and a leaflet from that, which he looked over. “This is the roster for next season.” 

I stretched out to take it when he offered, and went down the list. “Kolya’s retiring, I guess,” I said. No surprise there. He was the oldest one of us, and his name was no longer at the top of the list; Sasha was. I frowned.

“Yes.”

“You just don’t want competition for Sasha.” I rolled my eyes, moving down the rest of the names.

“That’s not-” Coach stopped himself, closed his eyes, then continued, voice forcefully calm. “I’ve recruited Georgi Popovich from Siberia.”

I reached his name just under mine, crinkling the paper in my grip. “Really? The Popovich boy?!”

“He’s a talented skater and well-suited for our team.”

“Oh,” I said in a helpless grasp for something,  _ anything _ , to say. “S-so you’re replacing me?!”

“Vitya.”

“No, no, I get it.” I got to my feet again. What was worse, being held back from the senior division or having Gosha join the team? Losing my place entirely. “He’s younger than me-”

“By one day, Vitya.”

“Taller. More… m-more manly, and he’s… he won Nationals and Worlds, so of  _ course _ he’s a better choice. I get it!” I stomped to the door, skate guards thumping against the tile floor. 

“Vitya, you know you’re not being replaced.”

“Do I?!” I shot a glare back over my shoulder. 

“Of course. No one could replace you. Besides, the Popovich boy will be competing at the senior level alongside Sasha.”

My mouth fell open again. “ _ He’s _ moving on, but-” I cut myself off, knowing how stupid it would sound. Of course he was moving on. He had his points, he’d already gone through a growth spurt or two. Coach could rely on him. While I… 

“Vitya, I recruit the best skaters in Russia that I can get my hands on. He will be an asset. However, I want you all to excel under your own brand. Once you are ready to move on, you will be his rival.”

I laughed, pushing the sound out harsh and cold. “Yeah, sure, Coach.” 

“Vitya.”

“He probably doesn’t freak out like I do, though, right? He’s probably normal. Probably doesn’t…” I turned back to the door, face hot, eyes burning. I couldn’t decide which piece of tragic news to focus on. Which was worst? 

Skating. Everything I had been fighting for in the past nine years, fighting for my career, was at risk. Nine years of skating, and I wasn’t good enough. 

“Vitya, please sit down.”

I shook my head. “You deserve gold medal winners, Coach,” I muttered, and pulled open the door to let myself out. 

 

He didn’t go after me. 

 

The Academy was almost empty, most students already gone home for the summer break. I finished packing and slept until my aunt and uncle came to pick me up.

“Vitya,” my uncle said. “Are you okay?”

“You look like you’ve been crying,” added my aunt, touching my cheek.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

 

n.y: so you made it home

Me: yeah. At least as “home” as this place is

n.y: congratulations on not dying again

Me: thanks

Me: are you ready for summer?

n.y: i guess. we’re touring europe again, and going on a cruise 

Me: that sounds fancy. I’ve never been on a cruise before 

n.y: they’re boring

Me: oh 

n.y: what are you doing now that you’re free of dance

Me: skating three or four times a week, working on my programs for the upcoming season

Me: Coach recruited this guy to our team 

Me: Georgi Popovich

n.y: fresh blood. Is he any good?

 

The one good thing about Niko not following skating is that he didn’t know who had beaten me. Of course, I was gonna have to tell him anyway because it would be too easy for him to find out the truth, but it was nice that I got to be the one to say it.  

 

Me: I beat him at the Jr. Grand Prix but he won Nationals and Jr. Worlds

n.y: so he’s pretty good.

Me: I think I’m being replaced

n.y: i’ll tell mom not to sponsor him

 

I had no idea how to respond to that other than a quick ‘thanks.’ Abandoning my phone, I dug out two new idea books from the pile in my closet. My aunt had been responsible for those. I’d asked her for a blank book when it was time to start preparing for my first program, and she’d brought me a dozen. 

“I didn’t know what size you wanted,” she’d said. “Or what kind. Or how many pages. So I picked these up for you! Let me know which ones you like and I’ll get more.”

I thanked her, but didn’t follow up. She was the type of person to give a mile when all you asked for was an inch, and then talk about it for years to come. I already knew I was a burden to them both; I didn’t want to add more to it. 

She added to my supply from time to time anyway. There were always new piles every time I looked in that bedroom closet. An act of desperation?  _ What can I do with this poor, strange nephew of mine?  _ I wasn’t about to ask her to find out. 

But I would use the books.

Coach said I wasn’t mature enough to move on to the senior division. That there was no need to rush. Yet he was bringing Gosha on and pushing him forward. Coach could say whatever he wanted, but the bottom line was that he meant that Gosha was better. 

Specifically, better than me.

It wasn’t the first time a teacher had betrayed me; Vaganova teachers were always trying to get us to compete against one another to try to cull the weakest dancers. There was never a chance to rest or feel comfortable in your place, but that was just what they wanted. I expected that from them, but not from Coach.

I’d been so sure that I was his favorite. That, maybe, as much as I thought of him as a papa bear, he might have thought of me as his bear cub, too… or at the very least, his little princess.

I guess not. 

Anyway, Gosha had parents. They were probably supportive. They might have been there at the Jr. Grand Prix. I couldn’t even get my aunt and uncle to come to local competitions, much less travel anywhere. He was stable. Adjusted. And I was… I was trouble. 

 

n.y: you’re really worried huh

 

I’d tried to be subtle in my complaining. Whining about problems and petty rivalries wasn’t attractive, and neither were insecurities. But I couldn’t help it. Niko called me out. My books weren’t coming along. I was struggling with the research. I only had one more day before practice, and if I really wasn’t going to be moving into the senior division, I had to get ready  _ fast _ . Juniors started battling for the cup at the end of August. That was almost no time at all. 

A short program, a free skate, and an exhibition gala piece. All three, costumes, music choices, needed to be finalized as soon as possible. I had so much to do, so little time. Exams had just ended but I was already right back into crunch time. 

 

Me: kind of stressed, yeah

 

I used the computer in my uncle’s office to watch the burned CD copies of previous performances that Coach had given me; clips from past competitions that demonstrated his favorite skating techniques and styles. Among my favorite were some of Stephane, which I’d probably watched more than a hundred times already. But I’d watch them again, and everyone else’s, to see what I could pull for the next season. 

My aunt had recorded this last season’s events for me, too. The VHS tape was labeled ‘Vitya skate - swan lake etc’ without a year, but it was near the top of the pile so that was good enough. I reviewed the footage, my programs and the ones of my competition, and took notes in one of the books. 

I really had cried when I’d gotten gold at the Jr. Grand Prix. It was on film. Embarrassing, sure, but that meant I could pause it on the image of Coach hugging me, too. 

 

n.y: it’s weird that they’d hold you back

n.y: aren’t you a champion or something

Me: yeah

Me: I don’t get it, either

Me: he said something about being more mature but

Me: what is that supposed to mean

n.y: you’re kind of short, mishka. maybe he’s worried you’ll get stepped on 

Me: no one steps on me. I’d bite them if they tried

n.y: kinky

 

As the season wore on, I looked more and more tired. The makeup only did so much to hide that, since I knew my own face too well. I  _ was _ tired. There was so much pressure to succeed. Get the gold medal. Move on. And even though I’d survived the season, Coach wasn’t letting me move on. 

With me stuck in the junior division, I wouldn’t get to compete against Sasha. Actually, with Gosha moving to seniors, I was easily the best in the bracket. Was that what Coach had wanted? An easy win? What good would that do? It just made me look like a cheater, hanging back just to stay a big fish in a small pond. As if I didn’t care about the sport or the art itself, but just about winning. That wasn’t true at all. 

I  _ could _ defeat them if I was only given the chance. I could stand my own. So why was he holding me back? 

Though, if I were to do a senior-level performance anyway… Look for ways to maximize point values in the short program and increase the difficulty exponentially, maybe I _ could  _ still compete with them. The point values would still stand, even if we weren’t fighting for the same podium. I could destroy their programs without being in their bracket just by virtue of scoring higher in my skates. 

I could even go for some world records. That’d show Coach. That’d show them all. 

 

Me: I think I know what I’m going to do for this year 

n.y: yeah?

Me: I’m going to be the mistress of the mountain

n.y: the snake lady? 

Me: yeah. 

n.y: i don’t even know what to say

n.y: mishka becoming a seductress 

n.y: wow

Me: I’m mad

Me: I’m gonna get vengence 

n.y: that makes sense

n.y: you’re not going to wear a dress are you

Me: no

n.y: oh wait they wear those tiny skirts for skating don’t they

Me: I have to wear slacks of some kind, it’s a requirement

n.y: no skirts then huh

Me: no 

n.y: too bad

n.y: you’d probably look pretty cute in a skirt

Me: niko

Me: are you flirting with me

 

Please say yes… 

 

n.y: haha no way


	7. The Boy Named Georgi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor faces his new rival head on with tactics that utterly backfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Threat of Whale Shark_ \- Tatsuya Kato

Why anyone would want to wear a skirt, especially on the ice, was beyond me.  _ Too _ much.  _ Too _ feminine. But it did give me some ideas. Men were, in fact, required to wear some kind of trouser for competition, while ladies were required to wear skirts. This rule had very few exceptions, which was stupid. I wouldn’t want to wear a skirt even if I’d been  _ born _ a girl, and I knew there were plenty in the Ladies’ division that felt the same. It was stupid.

I did some research and found that there was nothing in the rules that prevented people competing in the Men’s division from having skirts on  _ top _ of their trousers. Better still, with how flexible men’s costuming was, it would be easy to create a design that captured both male and female without breaking the rules. Trouser legs, sure, going for a bodysuit-style with mesh accents and a half skirt… As far as most people were concerned, it could just be an embellishment that sort of  _ looked _ like a skirt.  

I sent an email to Fifi. She would know what was allowed in the regulations or not, and started sketching out my ideas on paper.  _ Hozjajka mednoj gory  _ was a crafty spirit, protecting the precious gems in the mountain with the help of her serpents. Her dresses were traditionally depicted in jewel tones, predominantly emerald, but me in green just sort of made me look ill. I’d have to think of something else.

Later, though. I had time, and I needed to work on my programs. That meant going to the rink, where Coach and new rinkmate were. My  _ real _ rival. 

Gosha Popovich. 

To be honest, I wanted to give him the cold shoulder. Ignore him. Let him know that I wasn’t going to waste my time on someone like him. Besides, he was going into the senior division, so why should I care?

But when he saw me, he waved, smile just as sweet as I remembered. It was sincere enough, but reserved, too. Like he was too cool to get more excited than that. 

“Hi, Vitya! I guess we’ll be rinkmates now, da?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Uh. Welcome.”

“Thanks. Saint Petersburg is a lot different than Siberia. Do you have any recommendations for places that I need to visit?” 

I didn’t look at him while I laced up my skates, quite sure that if I did, I’d just roll my eyes. “Everywhere in Saint Petersburg is good.”

He must have picked up my irritation, because he took a step back and waited a few seconds before uttering a little “Oh.” 

Once my skates were nice and tight, I got up and headed for the barrier. “Are you liking it here, though?” 

“Uh, yeah! It’s beautiful.” 

I gave him a once over, cheek to shoulder, and smiled. But it wasn’t a sweet smile. Or innocent. It was the smile of a wolf. “Just wait until Coach takes you camping. The hunting grounds he likes are  _ beyond _ breathtaking.”

Gosha’s smile loosened, expression gradually fading from politely cheerful to cautious. Hesitant. “Camping? Hunting grounds?”

He was nervous. Perfect.

I shrugged, lifting up one foot after another to remove the guards from my blades. “Oh, yes. He takes everyone on an overnight trip once they officially join the team. It’s his way of initiating you.”

“Huh. He didn’t mention that…”

“That’s lucky for you, then… you still have a chance to get out of it.” I dropped the guards into the little basket on the floor, then stepped onto the ice. 

“Get out of it? Why would I want to do that?”

Once I was a few feet out, I turned around to return to him, folding arms over the wall to keep me anchored in place. “Well, the grounds are beautiful, but they’re cursed, too. It’s part of his evaluation process; to see how well you do against the elements.”

“Really?” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Yeah. When I went with him- I’d just turned thirteen -we ran into this big ol’ deer that I was supposed to kill. But this was no ordinary deer.”

“What happened?”

“He took one look at me and saw that I was pure in my heart, and could not be expected to take a life, of course. But Coach kept pushing me… ‘ _ shoot it,’  _ he said. ‘ _ Go on, Vitya.’ _ But the deer wouldn’t hear of it and transformed into a huge, hideous beast!”

The camping part was true; Coach did take each one of us out on a one-on-one trip. And he did make hunting part of it. The deer was big, and he really didn’t want me to be tainted by killing him- forest creatures can tell when they’re dealing with a princess, after all- but the monster part was a little bit exaggerated. Not that Georgi needed to know that. 

He looked thoughtful, nodding to himself. “What sort of beast did he turn into?”

“It was fourteen feet tall-” not true “-with hooves as sharp as claws-” probably true “-teeth like fangs-” definitely not true “-and antlers all over his back! The beastie was frothing at the mouth, he was so mad!”

His brow furrowed as he considered this. “I bet a tiger could take it. I’ve seen a tiger.”

“A tiger?” That wasn’t what I’d been expecting. Tigers were amazing. A tiger probably  _ could _ take out the beastie I’d invented, but… “Do you mean in the wild?”

“Yeah!”

Siberia was a much better place than Saint Petersburg, then. No fair.  

Gosha continued. “The tiger I saw killed something similar to this beast.” 

What. No way. Extra no fair. Not only seeing a tiger in the wild, but watching it kill something? The only tigers I’d ever seen were at the Leningrad zoo, and they didn’t do much of anything but lie there. “Sure, okay, maybe a tiger could, but you’re not a tiger, are you?”

“No! But I wouldn’t be scared!”

“Well, you  _ should _ be. ‘Cause you’re going to end up running into this beastie with Coach, and it’s going to remember that it didn’t get its revenge.” 

Staring, Gosha opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the call of Coach from the doorway.

“Georgi, come here a moment, please. We have some final paperwork to go over.”

My smirk returned. “Ooohhh, he’s going to arrange the camping trip, I’d bet my skates on it.”

“I don’t think our feet are the same size,” he muttered, and obediently scuttled over to Coach’s office. 

I went back to practice, trying out the different pieces of the routine that I was building in my head. A little more speed here, and no- that didn’t feel right… But I watched the door to Coach’s office for Gosha’s dismissal. 

When he came out of the room fifteen minutes later, he was wearing the expression of a drafted soldier. I waved to him and he paled.

Yep. I was right.

Gosha Popovich was going camping.

 

Fifi wrote back. As usual, it was a list of questions a mile long and took me several days to reply. One, because I could only use the office computer when my uncle was at work. Two, because I wasn’t very fast at typing. And three… they all required a lot of thinking. 

She liked my concept of adding feminine flair to the costume, but wanted to narrow down the proportions. How much male, how much female? She was opposed to doing 50/50 straight down the middle as the outfit would lose cohesion, but something more like interlocking could be perfect.

_ After all,  _ she’d written. _ You identify as both, but it’s not half male, half female; it’s overlapping, isn’t it? _

She wasn’t wrong. It was one of my favorite things about Fifi. She  _ got _ it. 

I wrote out lists of my color choices and things I wanted her to consider for symbolism. Snakes, dragons, witches, rocks, sorceresses, precious stones… I was going to be using a piece from  _ The Sleeping Beauty _ , and though it would be the theme for the Lilac Fairy, that was only one layer in the intricate story I wanted to weave. 

Once all of the questions were answered to the best of my abilities, I closed the email by promising to get her copies of my sketches. I hadn’t drawn any up yet, but it would be a couple of days before I could get to the library to use their scanner, anyway, so I had a little bit of time to get them done.

Thankfully, with summer in progress, time was something I had in ample supply. 

 

I emailed the designs to Niko as soon as I had them.

 

Me: my art isn’t great but what do you think?

n.y: you draw better than i do

Me: aw :>

n.y: this is a sexy costume, mishka 

n.y: it’s like kinky bondage wear

Me: that’s not what it’s supposed to be but ok

n.y: is this even legal 

Me: yes!!!! It’s not going to be as revealing as it looks I just can’t draw it right 

Me: Fifi is going to take care of it 

Me: make it practical

n.y: uh huh. 

n.y: are those rocks 

Me: They’re supposed to look like crystals, yeah. Protecting the treasures of the mountain

n.y: nice. You’ll have all of the girls falling for you now 

Me: ha ha i doubt that 

 

I didn’t need a sexy costume to get girls after me if my experience at the Academy meant anything. I also didn’t  _ want _ any of them after me. I just wanted a cute boy. Like Niko. If he liked the costume, though, maybe he’d see me as more than just a friend. 

Maybe he’d flirt with me and say that  _ I  _ was sexy. 

I had a whole list of sweet nothings to coo at him already; everything from ‘you’re so handsome!’ to ‘I want you to kiss my neck.’ I had a sexy voice all worked out, too. Sort of a purring thing. 

Would I ever get the chance to try it out?

 

Gosha and Coach came back from their overnight camping trip with little fanfare. When it had been  _ my _ trip, I raved about it for days, but neither of them said a word about it. Maybe I’d missed the story, though; I only went to the rink three times a week, and sometimes on an extra Saturday. It was entirely possible that they’d told Sasha all of the details already. 

Whatever the case, there was nothing stopping me from asking.

“Soooo, Gosha,” I said, leaning over the barrier to watch him put on his skates. “How did it go?”

He frowned, concentrated efforts halting, then turned a triumphant gaze on me. “I scared the beast away!”

I chuckled, just like Sasha did when he knew I was making things up. Ridiculous. “Uh huh. Did you shoot it?”

“I shot the minions.” 

There’d been no hesitation, just a straight-up lie, no waver in his expression. But I wasn’t about to lose. “The minions, huh? Did you bring back any proof?”

He sniffed. “Did you have proof that this beast thought you were pure?”

“Well, yeah. Coach was an eye witness.” It all rolled off my tongue with ease. This kid wasn’t going to last. “In fact, let’s ask him now! Hey Coach!”

Georgi froze in place, but his frown was ever-determined, even as Coach came to ruin his day. 

“What is it, Vitya?”

I put on my best smile, both hands on the barrier so I could shrug my shoulders to complete the sweet and innocent, puppy-eyed look. “How did hunting go?”

Coach studied me for a moment, then looked at Gosha, then turned back with a weary sigh. “No better than you, Vitya,” he said. 

I gaped.

Gosha did, too.

Satisfied with that reaction, Coach continued. “I take that back. He actually took shots.” 

“Well…! I couldn’t, ‘cause the deer was going to kill you if I did, Coach!  _ Obviously!” _

“Is that what you are saying?”

“That’s what happened!” At least sort of. 

The weariness on Coach’s face deepened. “You exaggerate. You didn’t want to shoot and it had a stare down.” 

“Uh, call it what you want, Coach, but I know what I saw. Besides, Gosha says he shot down the demon beast’s minions, so what’s  _ that _ about, huh?”

“He means the harmless rabbits.”

My jaw fell open. “The… rabbits?”

Gosha lept to his feet. “They are EVIL!” 

I burst out laughing. “Scary fluffy bunnies?! Oh my god!”

“They have large teeth and claws!” 

It was too much. I fell against the barrier, sinking down in fits of laughter, only able to choke out the word ‘bunnies’ between gasps.

“At least rabbits are real, Vitya!” Gosha was red-faced and distraught, but not about to let up his position. I had to give him a little bit of slack for that.

But only a little bit.

“Uh huh! They sure are!” I crowed. “Real  _ soft!  _ Or maybe real cute! Real cuddly!” 

“Vitya, stop antagonizing our newest rink member.” 

There wasn’t a sharpness in his tone, so it was safe to continue. “Hey, it’s not my fault that he can’t defeat the killer bunnies.” 

“At least he held the gun.”

It was Gosha’s turn to laugh, and he did so with extra vhim. “PFfft HAHAH!”

“I held the gun!” I yelled right back, standing up straight to lean over the little wall.

Coach, calm as ever, just rolled his eyes. “But you didn’t shoot.”

“I had to protect you!”

“Is that what you called that?”

I could feel the heat in my cheeks and could only imagine the blush I was sporting. It was so obvious on my skin, which was so unfair. “Well you’re still alive, so YEAH!”

“Aren’t you always saying that I’m immortal, Vitya?”

That  _ really _ wasn’t fair. And with Gosha watching, even? “Well… y-yeah…” 

“Are you two  going to skate today, or is it just me?” Sasha called from across the rink. “Coach doesn’t have time to babysit and if you’re not here to work, I’d rather skate alone.”

“That would be nice. Both of you, go.” Coach waved a hand to dismiss us. 

I slid back from the wall and Gosha went back to lacing his skates, both of us flushed and frowning. At least I wasn’t the only one embarrassed.

“Oh, and one more thing,” said Coach, hefting another sigh. “Vitya, do you remember the rule about diminutives on the team?”

“Yeah?”

“Then why are you breaking it?”

Coach wanted us to call each other by our given names, no nicknames of any kind. It was supposed to set the rink apart from the rest of our world, and remind us that we were all competitors. Plus, the international press got confused about how the naming conventions worked all the time, so it made it simpler. 

Still, it was unnatural. And besides… “But we call Sasha by his diminutive all the time!” 

“It’s registered with the ISU, dummy. I was tired of people misspelling Aleksandr.” 

“He’s an exception, not the rule, Vitya.”

“And what about me, huh? You  _ always _ call me Vitya!”

The ever patient Coach dropped the facade, fixing a cool and challenging gaze on me. “I’m your coach.”

“It’s a team rule!”

“Would you prefer I call you Viktor, then?”

It felt wrong. Immediately wrong. I shook my head. “N-no!” 

“Then I will do as I wish and you two,” Coach nodded first to me, then to Gosha. “Will address each other as I’ve instructed.”

The sharpness had settled in, and behind that, an immovable, stubborn bear. No matter how good of an argument I could come up with, he was too tired to hear it. 

I sagged. “Fine. Welcome to the team, Georgi.”

Georgi eyed me with a suspicious glance, then nodded, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Thanks, Viktor.”

“That’s better. Now get to work.”

 

We didn’t wait to be asked a third time. 


	8. Second Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgi attempts to make peace with Viktor by inviting him over for dinner, which turns out to be a recipe for disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Nebulous_ \- Taylor Davis

“Vitya! I told you not to do those jumps!”

Coach was referring to the counter-clockwise toe-loops I was trying. The setup was slow, so I could concentrate on mirroring my movements, and the jump was fun and didn’t require much lift. Turn around, jump, follow-through. I had a long way to go if I was going to catch up to Stephane, but for what I had in mind, there wasn’t any other choice. Any little thing I could do to increase my score and impress the audience was worth it. 

“Vitya!” 

Coach’s bark was sharp, but I ignored him as I set up another, twisted around, and jumped. It wasn’t a clean landing, but I managed to stay on my feet. It was only a matter of doing the drill enough times that the feeling became completely natural. 

Around, kick off with the pick, hop over the ice, then leg out for a beautiful landing. If I could nail this, then I’d move on to making it a double toe loop, all the way up to the quad. I could get a Camel spin well enough, but it still took too long to mentally shift my perspective. I had to have it smooth.

“You’re going to destroy your knee that way! Vitya!”

That was a risk. The impact of landing with all of that momentum was hard on the joints, but so what? My body belonged to the ice. And if skating didn’t destroy me, ballet certainly would. The only ones who never make mistakes are those who don’t do anything. And I was going to do  _ something. _

“Vitya!”

“I can’t hear you, Coach!” I tried a sit spin, but immediately went clockwise and aborted it with a spray of ice at my heel.  _ Counter-clockwise. Counter-clockwise. Counter-clockwise. _ I could do this. 

The double doors to the rink closed with an echoing click. It was hard to come in and out without announcing your presence, no matter how careful you were. I pushed myself into a counter-clockwise Camel spin so I could readjust my focus on how it was  _ supposed _ to feel, then glanced over.

Georgi said his hellos to our red-faced coach, then walked over to the bench to finish getting ready. Senior or not, he was way out of his league. 

I tried the sit spin again and nailed it, pulling myself low to the ground while keeping everything tight to maintain control of the speed.

“Hey, that’s looking pretty good!” called Georgi as he stepped onto the ice. “Like Lambiel, right?”

My mouth pinched into a little frown before I could help myself, and I straightened up once more, just to look a little taller. What did Georgi know about Stephane, anyway? He was  _ my _ idol, not his. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“That’s really hard to do. Are you going to be using it in this next season’s program?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Yep.” I spun around and gathered more speed, trying the backwards toe loop again- and this time I nailed it. I just had to spend enough time getting used to the motion and switching back and forth. 

Georgi slid to where I was and stopped to watch, even though there was a lot of empty rink he could have been using. 

I ignored him and kept going, moving into another Camel spin- which at least got him to back off a little. But he stood here, still, just staring. “Did you need something?”

“Uh, yeah. Actually.” He wrung his hands together, nervous energy wearing grooves in the ice beneath him. “Do you want to come to my house for dinner some time? My mother makes amazing stroganoff.”

Dinner? Stroganoff? 

I stopped skating to stare back at him. I’d never been asked to go to a rinkmate’s house before. Coach’s, sure. Lots of times. But not one of the other kids. And though it was tempting, it was also suspicious. Revenge for the camping incident? Probably. “Why?”

“Because we got off on the wrong skate… and it could be fun?”

Georgi  _ looked _ sincere. Maybe too sincere for it to be a trap. I folded my arms, watching him for any sign of wavering facade, but he just being his sort of nervous, smiley self. 

“Please, Vitya?”

“It’s ‘Viktor,’ Georgi.” I huffed. “What kind of stroganoff is it? Herring?”

“What? No. It’s beef.”

So not like my aunt’s. Thank God. And going would give me a chance to see what the enemy’s territory was like. That could be really useful. “I  _ guess _ I could come…” 

“Really?” Georgi’s smile turned bright and wide, and the nerves ebbed immediately. “That’s great! Okay! Uhm, how does Wednesday after practice sound? My mother can pick us up.”

I shrugged. “Sure. I guess. That’s fine.”

“Okay!” 

He left me to my skating after that, looking pleased as could be. He was the champion of both Jr Nationals and Jr Worlds; why should he care about me?

 

It was still sunny out when I left the rink, which was typical for a Saint Petersburg summer. Not quite the peak of our White Nights, but close. I loved it, even with the crowded tourist traps all over the city. Public transportation was busier, on the bus and then on the metro, but that just meant more people to watch. And to watch out for me, too. 

My student pass let me hop onto any transport in the city and go wherever I wanted with few exceptions, and I had big plans for my newfound freedom. More museums, more one-day dance workshops, more trips to the zoo… maybe I’d even go to the mall! I didn’t have a lot of money, but I had squirreled away what was left of my winnings from the Jr. Grand Prix. There were a lot of things I wanted to buy, but whatever it was, my gold-winning money needed to go toward something  _ great. _

Getting home involved a bus, two metro transfers, and another bus to the stop closest to home. Then I’d walk the rest of the way. I’d lived downtown most of my life; being able to explore the outer reaches of the city was a treasure. And Niko kept me company on the commute. 

 

n.y: wait, he asked you to dinner?

Me: yeah. 

n.y: is HE gay?

Me: I don’t think so. He’s had a ton of girlfriends.

Me: besides, I’m pretty sure it was his mama that put him up to it 

n.y: she’s match-making, mishka 

Me: no way. They probably just want to get a good look at the competition.

n.y: but i thought you said he was going on to the senior division

Me: still my rival… 

n.y: uh huh. So are you going?

Me: yeah, I guess

n.y: have fun with your boyfriend~  

 

Georgi wasn’t my boyfriend. I didn’t want to date Georgi.

Niko, though… Would he ever see me as anything more than a friend? 

I waited to text back until I was off the metro and on the last bus. There were less people the further we got from the epicenter of the city, so I actually managed to grab a seat. Head against the window, gaze fixed on my little cellphone, I wracked my brain for anything to say that could turn this around.

 

Me:  you know that’d just make you jealous, Niko

 

It was several minutes before he sent a text back.

 

n.y: nah

n.y: i know you like me more than him

 

I read and reread his texts a hundred times before the bus came to my stop, and ambled off in a daze. What was I supposed to say to  _ that? _ It was true, but it wasn’t like I could just admit it! So my phone ended up in my pocket and I just focused on walking, hoping the breeze would cool my face. 

The city streets were wide, sidewalks stretching out alongside buildings like paved roads in a hedge maze that went on for miles. Since I was nowhere near the river, the streets were mostly empty this time of night. I watched the street signs as I walked, checking the map in my jacket pocket for reference every few blocks to make sure that I was still on the right track. In a few more days, I wouldn’t even need to check; I could just run right home if I had to. 

Scattered above and between businesses were apartment buildings, each with one-way private entries, gated for security. The residential sectors were all off side streets, branching down blocks and through designated green areas. They were supposed to be parks, but they were no bigger than the length of the department stores that flanked them. 

I cut through one of them to save time, watching the record store sign up ahead to mark my heading. Around the corner was a line of shops that I’d definitely passed several times before. A barbershop, a convenience store, and an antique store at the end of the commercial strip. After that was just a long stretch of brick and concrete til the end of the block. 

The barbershop was empty, dark and curtained with its closed sign on the door. They were probably only open during normal business hours. The convenience store was open, though, as always- a twenty-four-hour hole in the wall with overpriced milk and cigarettes. It wasn’t anything like the cafe I loved at the Academy, but would work if I needed something on the way to the rink. The antique shop, sadly, was also closed. 

I peered through the shop front, gazing at the little ceramic figures barely tucked away in the shadows. An owl, a cat, dancing together. Pressed against the glass, I could just make out the details. They were precious. Perfect. I wanted to see them up close, but every time I’d come by, the door was locked with a ‘closed’ sign on display. 

I checked the sign again, but there were no hours listed. Only a simple ‘Closed, come back tomorrow.’ But it never changed. Not even on the weekends. How did it stay in business if it was always closed? It didn’t make any sense.

I kept walking, abandoning the shop for the pale twilight. There’d always be next time. Ten blocks later, I turned the corner and searched for the side street that would take me home.

_ Bzzz. _ A new text message. It wasn’t like Niko to message me before I replied. 

 

Unknown: hey I just double checked with mother and wednesday is great. Does that still work for you?

 

Oh. It was Georgi. 

I added him to my contact list, then typed out a reply.

 

Me: I’m not home yet 

SecondPlace: okay let me know when you get there!

 

I looked at Niko’s text again and wondered if  _ he _ was worried about me getting home. Somehow I doubted it. Niko probably didn’t care at all. 

 

When I got home, I talked to my aunt and uncle about going to Georgi’s for dinner and they were elated. 

“Finally, a friend for Vitya!” they cried. 

I had friends already. Like Niko. I didn’t need Georgi’s charity or my aunt and uncle’s pity. But it was too late to turn back now. I texted my confirmation to Georgi and stole away to the ‘library,’ where my aunt kept her elliptical machine. I liked not having to focus on ballet and classes while working on programs, but it was hard to get enough exercise in without the rigid schedule of the Academy. 

An hour later and I was ready for bed, exhausted and still completely unsure of how to deal with Niko’s text.

 

Wednesday came and I spent the whole practice trying to ignore how excited Georgi was. Sasha couldn’t stop snickering. 

“He reminds me of someone… hmmm, hmmm, who could it be?”

“Shut up, Sasha.” 

“It’s just so nice to see you getting a taste of your own medicine.” 

I’d never been as annoying as Georgi, though, and I wasn’t like Sasha, even at my worst. Georgi seemed happy as ever, though. Eager to please and impress. 

When his mother picked us up from practice, she was full of questions and compliments. Questions for Georgi, that is- about how his progress was going and what Coach had told him for the day. She was very invested. The compliments were for me.

“I loved your routines this past season, Vitya.”

“Thanks…”

“Your parents must be very proud.”

“Uhm.” It wasn’t worth explaining. Not to my enemy’s mama. “Yeah.” 

“He lives with his aunt and uncle, Mother.”

“Oh,” she said, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as she forced a sympathetic smile. “That’s right, you already told me about that, sweetheart.”

Georgi shot me a sympathetic look. The kind that said ‘don’t worry, I’ve got your back.’ 

I looked out the window to watch the city passing by. 

 

Georgi’s house was huge. A lot bigger than my aunt and uncle’s. And nicer, too. It wasn’t crammed in with the other houses on the street; they had their own big yard and trees and an immaculate flagstone pathway to the front door. I should have known from his mama’s car, but it only took a second to realize that they were people with money. 

“I’ll give you the tour!” said Georgi, holding the door for me. 

“You have a little while before dinner is ready,” said his mama. “I’ll call for you, okay boys?”

“Sure!” 

I just nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything else. The inside of the house was even more impressive. Everything was beautiful; neat and orderly with everything in its proper place. Georgi showed me around to his father’s in-home office, which was way bigger and nicer than my uncle’s, then the first level bath, the enormous kitchen, the living room, and then upstairs to show off the bedrooms. It was almost like Lilia’s house, except that everything felt spacious instead of too narrow. 

There were framed photos on the wall, and some tasteful pieces of art. Vases were set up in strategic places to add a bit of color against the taupe-colored walls. The furniture was leather, the carpets plush. Nothing was worn out. 

“We’re still unpacking the rest,” Georgi explained as he showed me his room. “I know we’ve been here almost a whole month, but it’s a big process.”

Right; they’d only just moved in. It was easier to keep things maintained when they were new. Maybe in a few months, everything would look just as used and hodge-podge as my house. Matching towels didn’t actually last in real life, did they? And Georgi’s room was so organized. 

Maybe they had a maid. 

“Oh, let me show you the backyard!” 

I followed him back downstairs, mind drifting from one thought of luxury to the next. Soaking in one of those garden tubs was probably heaven. Bunny naps on those couches would be divine. And Georgi had his own window seat with a view to the yard he was taking me to, lined with soft, fluffy carpet. I could have sat on one of those for hours and read or drawn or just looked out at the woods, creature watching. 

The backyard was huge. Though it was fenced, it had enough trees in the back corner that it was like its own private forest. There probably wasn’t much wildlife that came to visit, but that kept it pristine. He showed me the stone water feature, walked me through the miniature forest, and pointed out the patio and its hot tub. 

Insane. 

“So what do you think?” he asked, chest puffed and expression just a little too excited to reach his trademark  _ cool  _ persona. 

I shrugged, hands staying rooted in the pockets of my jacket. “I like this little forest area.”

“It’s great, right? We’re going to put a hammock up between these trees.”

A hammock in the trees…  _ That _ would be the perfect napping spot. “That’s… really cool.” 

I had to admit it. I was impressed. 

Georgi was thrilled. “Great! You know, you can come over more if you want. I know we’re rivals, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t be friends, too.”

“Yeah. I guess.” It was a trap and I wasn’t going to fall for it, but there was no other answer to give. 

“Great!”

We wandered a little bit in the foresty area, following the little path all the way through until it let out on the other side, then walked across the grass. Georgi explained some of the projects his dad wanted to do to enhance the space, but I was only sort of listening. Georgi really did have parents that cared. He had siblings, too. And money. He’d beaten me and, despite how cold I’d been, he was still  _ nice. _

If he weren’t so obviously and obnoxiously straight, he might even be cute. 

“-and I think we’re going to get another dog later, too. Mother keeps talking about an Afghan or something. What do you think about those?”

“They’re pretty,” I said, and nudged a mushroom in the grass with my shoe. I liked dogs. I’d wanted one for a long time, but my aunt and uncle said they’d been there, done that, and weren’t going to do it again. Especially since I spent most of the year at the Academy, so the care of a dog would fall on them. I had no dogs. Georgi had one and was getting another.

“Yeah, I think so, too. They have such soulful eyes, like you can look into eternity. Kind of like with horses.”

I gave him a sideways glance, squinting. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was making fun of me… but Georgi was gazing off into the distance with a wistful sigh. He was straight, all right, but still so gay. 

Instead of answering him, I followed the little trail of mushrooms, forcing him to follow after me. They were scattered here and there, but just a little ways up ahead, they were clumped together in a band around a patch of grass. A fairy ring. 

Georgi had a fairy ring in his backyard. 

Magic. He had  _ magic _ right here. He didn’t even have to go deep into the woods to find this. It was just… there. 

“Oh, you found the fairy ring!”

I unclenched my fists inside of my pockets, and took a deep breath. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

Georgi looked at me instead of the marvel in the grass, tensing again. “Dad says he’s going to mow them down, but they’ll just grow back.”

It was true. They did that. Why anyone would chop them down in the first place, though… 

“Georgi, do you believe in magic?” I blurted out the question before I had a chance to really think it through. It was so stupid to admit something like that to an enemy, on his part and on mine. 

But it was too late.

He frowned, regarding me with caution again. “...why do you ask?”

“Just wondering what you think about the fairy ring.”

Georgi debated for a moment, then said, “I think it’s… cool. What do you think?” 

“Do you believe in magic or not?”

“Uh.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Well I don’t think fairies… made this… ha, that would just be dumb, right?”

I clenched my fists again. “It’s not dumb.”

“...Huh?”

“Look, I’ve read about this a lot. I get that they grow like that because of nitrate-rich soil, I’m not stupid, Georgi.”

“I never said-”

“But there’s nothing that says that fairies can’t be the ones that made the soil like that! Maybe that’s just how magic  _ works _ , did you ever think about that?!”

“I, uh-”

The tears came on far too quickly for me to stop them, and I didn’t want to. I was frustrated. I was alone. There was nothing I could do that Georgi couldn’t, and it made sense that Coach recruited him to replace me. He was a much better fit to represent Russia. Someone who was nice and practical and fit into traditional Russian values. I sucked in a breath and it came out as a sob. “You don’t have to be such an ass about everything, Georgi! I never should have come here!”

He stared, dumbfounded and helpless, mouth open with no words to fill it. 

_ Good. _ I clenched my jaw to try to hold in all of the horrible words and cries that wanted to come out, body trembling. Princesses were supposed to be strong, but I wanted to go home. Or better yet, to run away and get lost somewhere in the city. It didn’t matter. I just needed to not be  _ here. _ Not in front of Georgi and his perfect family. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t belong anywhere. It was no wonder that Niko didn’t like me, that the other boys at the Academy hated me, that I’d only gotten gold  _ once _ in my entire skating career. 

I was more than useless, I was  _ worthless,  _ and crying in front of my rival was the worst mistake I could have possibly made. 

It was over. I would never recover from this. 

“Viktor…” 

I shook my head, turning away from him and covered my face with my hands. My cheeks were burning, both from the tears and the heat of embarrassment.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid! _

“Viktor, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Really. I believe in magic. I just didn’t want you to think I was dumb.” 

I cursed under my breath, biting down hard on my lip. Perfect Georgi was actually apologizing?! Even though he hadn’t done anything wrong except be better than me.  _ He _ was the good kid, and I was a terrible rinkmate and guest. 

“Viktor, please? Look, um, I can prove it if you want. Okay?”

I shook my head again, but held my breath when his mother’s voice called from the back door.

“Gosha! Vitya! It’s time for dinner.”

Georgi looked at me, then back at the house. “Yeah, we’ll be there in a minute, Mother!” Then he turned back to me, lowering his voice. “What can I do? Vit- uh, Viktor. Please don’t cry.”

I was  _ already _ crying, but his concern was sort of touching. It made me feel a little better and a whole lot worse at the same time. “Just… need a moment,” I muttered, then hiccuped.

To Georgi’s credit, he didn’t laugh, just nodded and turned toward the house. “Okay, I’ll stand guard.”

I wanted to curse again. Why was he so nice? Why did I hate him so much? Why was I so pathetic? I had no answers; just misery.

It took another five minutes for me to reasonably calm down and my face to not be so hot. I carefully wiped the tears away, taking slow, even breaths, and regained my composure. Georgi said nothing other than to ask if I was okay, and all I could do in reply was shrug.

We went inside for dinner, and though I was pretty sure everyone knew I’d been crying, no one said anything about it. 

The stroganoff was good, even though I was so anxious that I couldn’t eat much. Georgi hadn’t lied about that. There was dessert, too, but I’d stopped paying attention long before that, just listened to the rest of his family converse about this and that, grades and summer holiday plans. I answered whatever question was directed to me, but with short, vague replies.

“Are you okay, Vitya?” his mother asked.

“Yeah, sorry. Just… really tired.” As lame an excuse as it was, it was the truth.

His dad offered a reassuring smile. “That’s okay. I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready.”

I was ready. I was  _ so _ ready.

Georgi came along for the ride, sitting in the back of the car while I shared the passenger seat with my backpack and skates. They made small talk, mostly about how Georgi’s parents had high expectations for him now that they’d relocated. 

“You like Coach Feltsman, don’t you?” his father asked. 

I blinked at him, answering automatically. “He’s the best coach in the world.” 

“Good. It’ll be a great season, won’t it, Gosha?”

“Yeah!”

When we got to my house- my smaller, less grand, faded paint house -the pair of them walked me to the door. I guess it was to make sure that I got in okay, but it was excessive. Plus, the moment my aunt saw them, she was making grand gestures of gratitude- “Thank you for bringing my sweet nephew home!” -and promising to invite Georgi over for dinner next. “We’re so glad that he has a friend, now… I don’t remember him ever having one before!”

Georgi’s father shared the sentiment while Georgi pushed a hopeful smile. 

“Thanks for having me over,” I said, my aunt’s hands on my shoulders- her way of reminding me to be polite. 

“Sure, Viktor. Hopefully we can do this again soon?”

Again, I shrugged. 

I was so tired. 

So, so tired.

 

As soon as they left, I went to bed, promising to relay all of the adventures to my relatives after a good night’s sleep. 

They let me go, but I wasn’t sure if they believed me or not. 

Either way, it didn’t matter. Nothing would change the fact that  _ I _ was the real second place here, not Georgi. 


	9. The Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor learns the hard way that there are some things much worse than rival rinkmates. 
> 
> #violence #language #slurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Time of the Moon_ \- t.A.T.u.
> 
> (special thanks to Aaron for helping me get some of the details right in this chappy...)

The next few practices were weird. I focused on my skating, just working on getting the backward and forward spin switching down, and ignored Georgi as best as I could. I didn’t want to face him after that little meltdown. Boys weren’t supposed to cry. Princesses weren’t, either. Not that he knew what I was, and not that I’d ever tell him. If crying was bad, being a princess was probably a thousand times worse. He’d never let me live it down. 

Despite this, he was friendly. Sympathetic, even. Gentle. Like he was trying to comfort me while walking on eggshells. It was annoying. I wasn’t  _ that _ fragile. 

So I returned his greetings, answered his questions, and didn’t bait him into any arguments, but otherwise, I turned all of my attention to the ice and perfecting what I needed to. 

Coach must have noticed because he looked like he  _ wanted _ to say something, but held himself back. Instead, he worked with Georgi on refining his technique, drill after drill. 

I never got that much hands-on attention from Coach, even when I  _ was _ his favorite. Then again, Georgi was preparing for his senior debut. That was probably why, right? 

Maybe. 

I finished up my allotted time and left without commentary. If Coach was busy there was no point in interrupting him, especially since it kept Georgi occupied, too. The last thing I needed was to be cornered by him to ask about return dinner plans. 

I changed in the locker room and packed my backpack, skates tied to the hanging loop, then checked my phone. It’d been days since I’d heard from Niko, so it was both surprising and… not when I saw I had a message from him. Several, actually.

 

n.y: did you die mishka

n.y: or did you really hook up with the popovich? 

n.y: cold shoulder. brutal

n.y: mishka 

n.y: i want to hear about your date with him

n.y: was it good 

 

I rubbed my eyes, then reread them. Was he jealous? Or drunk, maybe? I couldn’t tell. The messages were spaced apart by a few minutes. Had he just realized that we hadn’t been talking? Had he been holding out to make me text, first? Either way, I wasn’t about to give details about what happened. If Niko thought I was gay before, he’d never be interested now. 

 

Me: sorry, I was in practice 

Me: dinner was fine. His parents are really nice. So is his house. They’re money people.

 

I checked my phone again when I reached the bus stop. 

 

n.y: you’ll have to see my house some time.

 

...right. He was rich, too. Great. With how generous his mama was, at least on paper, I could only imagine what their home was like. A mansion? Probably. Just another item on the long list of reasons why Niko would never be interested in someone like me. 

But I was a masochist and an idiot, so I took the bait. 

 

Me: yeah, that’d be great.

 

Was that too much? He hadn’t replied by the time the bus came, so when I found a seat, I typed out another.

 

Me: it’ll take me a long time to get there on the bus though :>

 

What was I thinking? He lived in Moscow.  _ Moscow! _ Even if he did like me, we’d never see each other. There was no way I could afford to go see him, travel expense or time investment. Not during the school year, anyway. 

What a miserable joke. 

I transferred to the underground rail, swiping my metrocard, and found a place to stand in the back. On my second transfer, I checked my phone again.

 

n.y: i bet we could arrange something

 

I took a deep breath, then slid my phone- and all of the implications it carried -into my pocket. Did he like me after all? Was it too early to be hopeful? Probably. Yes. But I felt it anyway. Chest flutters. The little smile on my face. It was so stupid to be so happy about something so small and unintended. 

I kept smiling after I got off, then onto the bus. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him- Yes? Sure? Let’s do this? Marry me? -nothing sounded right. Too desperate. Too needy. 

I read the message again.  _ I bet we could arrange something. _ Go to Moscow and stay with Niko. More chest flutters. I was going to die if this kept up. 

By the time I got off the bus and started my long walk home, I was in a pretty good mood. Each footstep felt like music; the way my body created the rhythm and the melody through the pavement, the pull of each breath of salty sea air. The hum of tires and traffic was the backbeat to the world I knew. Each brush of rubber on asphalt, paper against brick wall, and stranger’s voice added to the  _ le motif _ of the song in my heart. 

The song of Saint Petersburg. My beautiful home.

The breeze that swept over the canal was cool enough that I had to pull my jacket tighter. Even though it was summer, Russia never stays warm for long. I turned down the block and passed the familiar storefronts, pleased that I wasn’t having to reference my map at all. When I got to the antique store, I peeked inside to see if my little owl and cat friends were still there. They were, albeit covered in a thin layer of dust. Even so, I was smitten. There had to be a reason that I kept coming back to them. If they weren’t too expensive, I’d buy them in a heartbeat. 

I checked the sign on the door, which confirmed that the shop was still closed as ever. The convenience store, though, was lit up in neon. Open twenty-four hours.

I looked at my phone. I was still making pretty good time; a few more minutes wouldn’t mind. My aunt and uncle were finished with dinner by now anyway; they probably wouldn’t even notice if I was a little late. 

Backtracking, I went into the convenience store. The bell overhead chimed to announce my arrival, and the cashier looked my way with a tired frown. 

“Hi!” I put on my best smile and walked up to the counter. “I have a quick question.”

“I’m not buying anything,” she muttered. “Sorry, kid.”

“Oh. I’m not trying to sell anything.”

“No cookies?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I just wanted to ask about-”

She cut me off, slapping her hands on the counter. “You’re Viktor Nikiforov!” Before I could even react, she had a magazine in her hand, flipping pages until she found an article, which she held up to show me. I knew it well.  _ Viktor Nikiforov Breaks Silver Streak; Brings Home Gold for Russia in Jr. Grand Prix. _ My photo was there, big and in color, with the gold medal front and center. 

I studied the magazine spread as if it wasn’t plastered on the wall back at the dorm with a skeptical hum, then noded. “Yep, that’s me!”

“Sorry, I thought you were a girl. You’re famous!”

I shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

She took the magazine back to compare the picture, eyes darting back and forth. “It says you live here in Saint Petersburg, too.” 

“Yep!”

“How did I not put that together? Crazy small world. Can I have your autograph?”

“Uhm. I guess.” I’d signed stuff at competitions before, even at the rink, but on the street?  _ Wow. _ “Do you have a pen?”

“Sure.” She flattened the magazine with one hand and dug around in her drawer until she found a marker. “Tada!”

“What’s your name? Do you want me to write it out to you?” I looked for a name badge, but she didn’t have one. 

“No thanks. I want to put this on ebay!”

I frowned. Well. That was… Huh. At least I’d be able to check the listings to see how much it went for later. “Okay.” I signed it with my name and a big heart like always, then passed it, and the marker, back to her. “There you go!”

“Thanks, Viktor. Vitya. You’re so cute.”

“Sure. Thanks.”  

“So what can I do for you, anyway? I’m not supposed to sell alcohol to anyone under sixteen.” She paused. “But I might make an exception for you.”

A good thing to keep in mind, I guessed. “Do you know anything about the antique shop next door? It’s always closed when I come by.”

“Oh. Yeah, the guy who runs it is never in. He lives nearby. Just opens it by appointment, mostly.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a stack of business cards, which she thumbed through. “Let’s see… yeah, this is the guy you want to call if you’re looking to get in. Honestly, he’s just asking to get stolen from.”

I took the card from her. It was bent from the rubber band that kept all of the cards in place, but old and faded besides. I turned it over in my hands, rubbing it between my fingers, then put it in the zipper pocket of my jacket. “Thanks. I’ll give him a call.”

“No problem, Vitya.” She sighed, looking me over again, smile lop-sided and sort of dazed. 

I knew that look well. It was the one girls gave me when they couldn’t decide if they wanted to hug me or braid my hair- a common problem at the Academy.  _ Girls. _ “Okay. Well, see ya!”

She reached out. “Wait, can I touch your hair?”

Guess she decided. I leaned over the counter. “Just for a second.”

I said it with a smile, but it was always reluctant. Hair was tough to manage. Especially long hair. And the shampoo and conditioner I used wasn’t exactly cheap, either. Lilia had been right about using the good stuff. Which meant that people always wanted to touch it. Sometimes it was nice. But hands were dirty. Especially stranger’s hands. 

“It’s so soft,” she said.

I pulled away. “Thank you!” 

“Gorgeous.” Her eyes sparkled- maybe with envy, hopefully admiration.

I backed away from the counter until I was sure that I was out of arm’s reach, then hustled out and into the evening, scurrying past the antique shop’s dark window before the closing convenience door’s bells finished ringing. 

Halfway down the block, another gust of wind tugged at my sleeves and tossed my hair into a wild flurry of silver up and over my head, right into my face. So much for a glorious mane. That was the only thing that I didn’t like about having long hair. That, and clogging the shower drain. Or how long it took to dry and style. But everything else about it was great. 

I dug a hair tie out of my jacket’s inner pocket, turned to face the wind, eyes to the ground. Though it took a few tries for the wind-blown, sweat-infused locks to behave, I managed to beat it back in a messy ponytail, all while juggling my backpack and heavy skates.

“Hey, Vitya.” 

A man with a cigarette perched at the corner of his mouth held up a copy of the same magazine that the girl had. Oh. Another fan!

I swept the stray hair from my face and grinned. “Did you want an autograph, too?” 

“Yeah. If you have a minute.”

The door to the convenience store opened again, and two more guys joined the man with the magazine. They were a pack. Whether that was a pack of wolves or a pack of gum, I didn’t know. “Do you have a pen?”

The man in front checked the pockets of his jacket, but found nothing. “Damn. What about you guys?”

“Nope.”

“Fresh out.”

With a sigh, I slipped my backpack off one shoulder and around, crouching to unlace my skates from the top loop. “Hold on.” 

“Sure.” 

It was getting darker, and the shadows from the streetlamp overhead were faded ghosts around me as they crowded around to watch me. I managed to get into the zippered pouch where I kept the stationary, took out a pen, and looked up to where they were looming. 

“Here.” The first man dropped the magazine in front of me, which fanned out in a splay of glossy pages. 

I took it, thumbing through the pages to the article, and paused when I came to my signature from a few minutes ago. Swallowing, I looked over my shoulder toward the convenience store.

The man with the cigarette coughed. “I want to touch your hair, too.” 

Just as he reached for my ponytail, I ducked and took hold of my backpack, lunging right for the space between the two other guys at a sprint. There was a thunk as my right skate hit the ground, but I kept going. I wasn’t stupid. A skate I could replace, but if these guys were going for my ponytail… 

“Hey wait!”

One of them yanked me back by the skate left on my bag, and would have had pulled me over if the lace hadn’t snapped. Instead, it pitched me forward, stumbled, hopping on one foot for two or three steps- right into the waiting arms of one of the thugs.

“Where are you going, you little faggot?”

“I’m not-!  Let me go!” 

The man spun me around, wrenching my arms at the elbow until they were touching behind my back, grip tight and getting tighter. 

“Ow! Stop! HELP!” 

“Shut up.” He squeezed tighter, breath hot and heavy against my ear.

I didn’t stop, though. I struggled hard and got out one sharp scream before the guy with the cigarette grabbed me by the mouth, pinching hard to grind the inside of my cheeks against my teeth.  “Yeah, you look like a girl with all of this makeup. And your hair is so pretty. I couldn’t decide if I should be mad or into it when you were hitting on my girlfriend.” 

I yanked my head back, against the chest of the guy holding me, and gave my best bark. “I wasn’t!” 

He flexed his now-empty hand and dragged his fingers down between the open cavern of my jacket, over my chest, and fisted the hem of my shirt. “Let’s check, just to be sure.” 

“Hey!” I squirmed, but it didn’t do any good. He pulled my t-shirt all the way to my neck, fabric stopped only by my arms, and took a long look while the others laughed. 

“Nothing there,” he said, letting it go. “Look, he’s blushing. What, embarrassed you don’t got any tits for us?”

“I think he’s actually going to cry!”

Maybe. Maybe not. The guy behind me had a firm grip on my arms, and nothing I’d done had gotten him to loosen up, so at least I was pretty sure this would work. I rose onto my toes like any good ballerina-  _ releve  _ -and kicked off from the ground. With one sneaker planted firmly on cigarette man’s thigh, I used arm guy’s support to swing my other leg right into his face. The cigarette went first, then the man, staggering to keep his footing. 

“What the hell?!”

Maybe I was small, but I was strong, and my legs were nothing to mess with. 

The guy holding me let go in surprise, and I hit the ground on both feet, though it wasn’t my most graceful landing. Didn’t matter. As soon as I had traction, I made a break for it, one hand outstretched for the hoop of my bag while my other arm made a shield over my head from the last guy. I wasn’t about to let him get my ponytail, either. 

The wind nipped at my heels as I ran, putting distance between me and the angry cursing that followed. I took a left at the end of the block and cut across the street, hopping the short fence that divided the road. Then I hurried down a side street, slowing down just enough to listen for the calls or footsteps of my pursuers. 

There was the wind, and cars on the highway not too far from where I was. Voices reverberated off of the concrete, but it sounded distant and muffled. I kept close to the buildings, taking shelter in shadows and greys, winding past gates and for sale signs, parked cars and vacant lots. I kept walking as the night settled in, air getting colder, clutching my backpack to my chest. 

Nothing was familiar. Where was I?

Most of the buildings were nearly identical in form; tall, concrete, grey. Row after row of the same housing and commercial structure. But without the signs I’d come to recognize, I was lost. 

I needed to get home, where it was safe. I shuddered as I walked, and zipped up my jacket. It wasn’t that cold, but I couldn’t stop trembling anyway. What they did… maybe it wasn’t a big deal, but it made me feel like boiled cabbage that’s been left out in the cafeteria. Heavy. Slimey. Lukewarm. Unwanted. Sour.

And my skates… I’d left them behind. Maybe I could retrace my steps, get them back? It was dangerous, but I wasn’t getting any closer to home wandering blindly, either. I checked my phone. 

 

n.y: are you still mad at me?

 

If I had Niko with me, he’d keep those guys away. He was tall and broody; they’d probably be scared of him. Or maybe they’d just assume that I was his girlfriend and leave us alone. But he probably had a car. He could have just driven me home. 

I cut through another so-called park, doubling back a from what I hoped was just a few blocks over. Even if I could just find the right side street, I could get my uncle to go back with me for the skates. I just needed to get home. 

“Hey, there he is!” 

I stopped short and turned on my heel, running through the grass as fast as I could, then hugged the corner of the building to make a break for it down the street. If they found me on one of these streets, there’d be no where for me to run; no doors to duck into, nothing but apartment windows to scream at. I had to hurry. I couldn’t get caught. 

I turned at the end of the block and kept running, head down, legs pounding pavement. I knew at least one of the guys was chasing me, so if I could get past them-

“Vitya, welcome back!” 

Cigarette was waiting for me in a doorway. I changed directions and ran into the street with just a prayer that I wouldn’t get hit by any cars; I didn’t have time to look. There was no time to be relieved when I reached the other side, though, slipping between two parked cars and over the sidewalk, stooping down to get past the caution tape of a building under construction. They wouldn’t follow me in there. It was way too dangerous for big, stupid bullies. 

I was nimble, though. I picked my way through the piles of lumber and rebar, skirting past the weather-worn tarps and brick to search for the other side. If I had to, I could just wait them out in there. There were plenty of places to hide. 

But I should have known better. Mistake number one. Guys like them were  _ too _ stupid to know that they shouldn’t go into a place like this. I heard footsteps behind me, stumbling in the dark. Then clattering and cursing. They weren’t going to give up.

I reached the other side of the building and held my backpack out to the side so I could shimmy through the gap in the wall; it wasn’t wide enough for me to get through with it. That was mistake number two. I’d just started to pull my bag through when one of the guys grabbed onto it and my wrist with it. I screamed again, and the pale sky disappeared as they dragged me back through and into the dark.

“Let me go!” 

“You kicked me in the face.” 

“So?!” Mistake number three.

He pulled me toward him- right into his raised knee -and I doubled over so hard that I couldn’t even breathe. When he let go, I crumpled to the ground, gasping, hands between my legs. 

“Okay, I’m convinced,” he laughed. “You’re a boy after all.” 

Even though I heard him, I didn’t care. I coughed out a whimper and a groan, curling in on myself as tight as I could go. My stomach churned, vision blotted with black and white spots which stayed even after I closed my eyes. Every breath made the nausea worse, so I tried to stop breathing, which only helped a little. I wasn’t going anywhere.

They upturned my backpack, dumping the contents into the dirt. What were they doing? Looking for proof? They weren’t going to find anything. 

“Look. A unicorn pencil case. It’s pink.”

_ Shit. _

“Damn, kid. Don’t you know what happens to boys like you?”

I felt a shoe against my back, nudging me, but I didn’t look. I was trapped, incapacitated, and surrounded. 

“Crying isn’t going to help, you little faggot. It’s disgusting. Weak, creepy little pervert.” 

I wasn’t any of those things. I wasn’t. “I’m not...”

“Not what?” The man crouched down taking my chin in his hand again to angle my face toward him. “What aren’t you, huh?”

“I’m not gay.” 

All three of them laughed, but it was the guy I’d kicked that replied, patting my cheek. “Don’t worry, kid. We’re here to help. Get up.”

I shook my head. I didn’t think I could even if I wanted to. 

The nudge from earlier became a sharp kick against my back. “He said get up!”

I bit back a yelp and let go of myself, flattening palms against the ground to get to my knees.

“And stop crying, it’s so pathetic.”

Like I could control that.  I couldn’t stop shaking. “Please let me go.”   
The one who held me earlier grabbed the collar of my jacket and yanked me to my feet, but my legs buckled. They weren’t having any of this nonsense. He grabbed the other half of the collar and the front of his shirt in one of his beefy man paws and hauled me back up. “Look, kid, it’s our civic duty.”

“It’s true. Nothing personal.”

“I’m- I’m just a kid,” I choked out.

They didn’t care. Not then, or when I screamed from the pain of my wrist when they threw me against the wall, or even after my head was bleeding. No one came to my rescue. If they heard, they didn’t care. I’d seen things like this on the news and in the papers before. I just never thought, even with everything else, that I’d be one of them. I was young. I was small. I wasn’t predatory or even that flamboyant. 

I didn’t even have a boyfriend. 

It was only when I’d stopped crying that they let me go. Ordered me to get out and  _ get straight _ . Said they’d be watching out for me. That they’d give me a head start to run-  _ this time - _ but only because I wasn’t grown up yet.

I managed to scrape myself off of the ground and limp back through the gap, body stiff and aching, and forced myself to move. Maybe they’d chase, maybe they wouldn’t, but I wasn’t going to leave that up to chance. I went blind, shuffling quickly to put distance between us. I couldn’t go home like this. I didn’t even know how to  _ get _ home, but if my aunt and uncle saw, they’d freak out and- and-

The black iron gate of a church caught on the tear in my jacket, stopping the sob that was rising in my throat. When I pulled free, wiping my eyes, the gate was open just enough to slip through. I’d never been in a church before. Not when it wasn’t a historic monument or whatever. I checked over my shoulder- no one following, no one around at all -and snuck in. Every step was enough agony that I couldn’t even begin to guess what all was wrong. I needed help. Somewhere to hide and then I could call Coach.

The door into the chapel was unlocked, letting me in without a fuss. It was dark except where the stained glass windows let the soft twilight shine on the cross and the Christ figure on it. I’d read the bible before, but I didn’t know what to believe. But if He was really anything like the man I’d read about, with parables and miracles, He wouldn’t mind if I hid out in one of the pews, would he? We shared a birthday. He’d probably watch out for me. 

Once I picked a pew to lie on, out of sight from the doors, I fished my cell phone out of my pocket. The screen was cracked, but still working. I didn’t need the screen to call Coach; I had his number memorized. 

He picked up after a few rings, but by then I was crying again. “Coach!”

“Yes, Vitya?” 

His voice was tense, as if he were trying to practice patience with me. It broke what was left of my heart. I’d never meant to be any trouble. “C-can you come get me?” Each word caught in my throat, hindered by the gripping torment in my chest. “I don't... know where... they... Coach..."

He was silent for a few seconds, long enough for me to cough out another sob into my sleeve, and when his voice came back it was deep and serious. "Where are you, Vitya?" 

“A church. I don’t know which one. I was almost home. Please, Coach.”

“Are you safe?”

“For now? I think…” 

“Stay there. I am on my way.”

I set the phone aside and buried my face in my arms. Coach would find me. He would help. It was going to be okay. I was just supposed to wait for him. I could do that. I could trust Coach.

I just had to wait it out.


	10. Papa Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While recovering at Yakov's house, Viktor goes through his stuff without permission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Behind Blue Eyes_ \- Music Box Mania

“Vitya?”

I startled awake, trading fragmented dreams for stiff pain and fear, and held my breath until the voice came again.

“Vitya, are you here?”

Coach. He’d found me. Dragging myself up onto my hip, I peeked over the back of the pew and felt the fresh, hot tears running down my cheeks at seeing his figure standing in the doorway. “Coach!”

In seconds he had me in his arms, cradling me close to his chest. I was safe. Now that I was with Coach, I would be okay. The relief of it had me sobbing all over again, onto his collared shirt. He was warm, he was big and scary, he would protect me. My papa bear.

“Vitya. What happened?”

“I... I think my arm’s broke.” Coach was the only person I could cry in front of without feeling weak. I was _still_ weak, but Coach never made me feel it.

He loosened his grasp to sit on the bench with me, running his large hands first over my right wrist, then my left. It was already swollen, and I hissed when he tested pressure.  “Yes, I think so.” Coach touched my forehead next, gently brushing hair from my face. The blood had dried from where I’d hit the wall. “What happened?”

I was so cold and tired, I scooted closer to press against his side. Everything hurt. “Some guys attacked me on the way home. I lost my skates, Coach! And my backpack. They… they said I was… all of these things. Chased me. They were gonna kill me, Coach, because they said no one cared about people…” I turned my face to bury it against his shoulder, continuing with a whimper.  “...people like _me.”_

Coach put his arm around me again. “Do you know any of these boys?”

“No… they came after me because I signed an autograph f-for the convenience store girl.”

He tightened his hold and used his soft, ‘I’m in control of the situation’ voice, which was always 100% effective. Best papa bear. “Vitya, start at the beginning.”  

I tried to think back and explain,but as I went over the events, I choked, and the story spilled out in a jumble of words and muffled sobs and snotty gasps. It was the text messages, the antique store, the girl at the counter, my hair, the bullies, the chase, and then--

“It’s okay, Vitya. Let’s get you to the doctor for now. We can go over the details tomorrow.”

I nodded with my good hand clutched over my mouth and nose to keep the sounds in. I couldn’t tell him about everything they’d done, or even all of the things they said. None of it was okay, I _knew_ that, but it still hurt and I was so ashamed of being accused.

“Can you walk?”

I nodded again, and he helped me off of the bench and out to his car, walking slow to let me keep up. He didn’t say anything about me crying, just helped me into the passenger seat, buckled the seatbelt for me, and drove me to the team doctor.

 

His name was Dr. Timur Matveev, and Coach preferred his services to any others when it came to his skaters. It let Coach keep track of our records and get things taken care of immediately instead of having to wait for appointments in the usual system. Dr. Matveev was on call and ready to receive whenever Coach needed him, even after hours.

The office was dark and quiet, with only Dr. Matveev there to let us in. Coach explained the situation so I didn’t have to, and the doctor cleaned me up, ran some tests, and gave me some pain medication and a blanket to relax with while they slipped into the hallway to talk.

I didn't want to be alone. Not with what had happened. With my head bandaged and my wrist in a brace for the next few weeks, my programs were going to take a serious hit. Would Coach ban me from the rink? That's what he'd done to some of the others on the team when they injured. Forced recovery. I couldn't afford that. Not with how tight the deadlines were. Not with how much was at stake.

I didn't get too much time to worry about it, though, before Coach was nudging me awake.

“I have called your uncle, Vitya. You will come home with me tonight.”

I nodded, and it felt like my head was going to flop over and off with any movement. There was still pain, but everything was just a dull, cottony ache.

“Are you gonna make me not skate?” I asked while he helped me to my feet. The words felt wrong in my mouth, blended together like a little train of mumbling thought.

“Two weeks.”

I whined, and he shushed me.

“No exceptions, Vitya. You will rest and begin a new diet.”

“Wha… Coach…”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

 

Coach set me up on the sinky couch in his office. I’d slept there before, usually when we had a plane to catch early in the morning, so it was familiar and comforting. He spoke to me, but I was so sleepy that I didn’t understand most of it. All I remembered was something about ‘tomorrow’ and the overwhelming relief of being safe.

 

When I woke up, the office was bright from the strong morning sun in the window. I checked my phone for the time, but it’d died sometime during the night. The wall clock over his desk read quarter past ten. I’d slept in so late, and my body was suffering for it.

It took a good five minutes just to drag myself off of the couch. _Everything_ hurt, from my scratched up legs to my pounding head. My left arm was basically useless. It carried a dull, burning ache unless I moved or touched it, and then it felt like stabbing fire needles all over. I needed ice packs and painkillers or I was definitely going to die.

I limped out of the room and down the dark and empty hallway to the kitchen, leaving the lights off to maintain the tranquility of Coach’s house. It was old, but well-maintained, with low ceilings and dark wood panels for walls. With few exceptions, the only light sources beside the curtained windows were lamps with faded lampshades, perched in the corners of the rooms on end tables or stands. Almost like a cave.

There was a note on the counter underneath a bottle of medication, detailing where Coach was, what I should eat, how often I should take medication. He’d be checking in on me at lunch.

I took the pills with a little mug of milk- all of which took forever to finagle with my arm out of commission -then made a piece of toast for breakfast. If my wrist weren’t busted, I might have gotten more ambitious. The thought of Coach coming home to fresh cookies was so nice, but I’d probably end up burning his house down. Coach wouldn’t like that at all.

Toast would do. Besides, it was portable, allowing me to wander around and take everything in without Coach watching over my shoulder. When I’d tried to explore before, Coach had ushered me away from his treasures. I understood, though; his house was a museum of memory, and sometimes memories were painful. I went slow, shuffling to jostle my injuries- especially the unmentionable bruising between my legs -and soaked it up while I could.

I found the medals first. There were just a handful on the wall, hung up by their ribbons on little hooks. Mine was the newest acquisition, set apart from the others by a margin of several years. I didn’t recognize the others, but it was easy to assume which was Sasha’s. Only a few were skating-related; the rest were novelty medals or for dancing. Ballet. They were Coach’s medals.

Even though they were out, they were clean and free from dust. Cherished. It kept me from touching them, even though I wanted to. Oil from hands was worse for metal than it was for hair.

I continued on, nibbling on my toast, pausing to look at each framed photograph and keepsake that he’d decided to put up.

Eventually, I found the photo I’d seen before of Coach and Lilia on their wedding day. They looked so much different then. Softer. Happier. I don’t know what the war did to him, but I wasn’t going to ask. There are some lines that you just don’t cross. But I do know that, like most tragedies, it made him a harder man.

Softer, too.

Tough Papa Bear couldn’t hide that fact, no matter how he tried. Not from me.

There were curio cabinets against the wall in his living room and little dining area, each filled with different fragments of his life. More medals, several from recent years, curled up on their ribbons like precious metal snakes; several smaller photographs framed, Coach with other people throughout the years, most that I didn’t recognize at all; a few uniform pins and yellowed envelopes addressed to him; dog-eared books; and, my favorite, a collection of Soviet-era toys.

How scary could a man really be if he kept cartoon memorabilia?

Okay, not all of them were cartoons, but the ones that were fit squarely into the iconic category. Behind the painted ballerina Matryoshka set was a gross old hand puppet of Cheburashka, the monkey-dog thing and a matching puppet of his friend Gena, the crocodile. The plastic parts were scratched, but otherwise intact. Not like the felt figurine of Gav, the kitten, which had lost most of its flocking. I scanned the shelf, searching, pausing briefly at the 1980s Moscow Olympics pin of the mascot, Mishka, and fought back the urge to blush. _Mishka._ Cute bear.

Was Niko worried about me? Were my aunt or uncle? Coach must have called them. What would they think about me, being attacked for being, well, _me?_ They never talked about it much, at least in front of me, but I was pretty sure they were on the traditionalist side.

I sighed. We’d probably have to talk about it when I got home either way, though I was sure I wouldn’t like what they’d have to say. The only way I’d get a new phone was through them, though, so I had little choice.

My skates were gone. Did they need to be replaced, too? What about my wallet? My metro pass? And my commemorative Olympic jacket had been ripped. There’d be no replacing that. My own olympic pin had gotten lost last night, too. Powder, the hare, had been pinned to the pocket, but by the time I’d called Coach, it was gone.

But then there was Vinni Pukh and his little friend, Pyatachok. I bit my lip, trying to resist the temptation to open up the case and steal the plush pig, but I'd never been able to resist before, so my attempt lasted all of fifteen seconds before I had him in my hands. Really, with all of the times I'd taken him before, it would have been weird not to. Coach was probably expecting it, and that was all the justification I needed.

With the target tucked under my arm, I closed the case and moved on. There was so much more to explore and learn. Which was exciting! Really, I was feeling pretty good despite having been attacked. Injuries aside, I was doing fine. Maybe I wasn't going to be scarred for life and cry over every little shadow. I don't know why I was surprised, though; I was a princess! I was tough! I could handle some dumb bullies, no problem.

Five minutes later, I realized I was draped against the back of the armchair, entire body drooping under its own weight. Right, the medicine… I could continue the search later. Nap was needed.

I don't remember walking back to the couch in the office, but I do remember seeing the trophies on top of the filing cabinet next to his desk, and wondering if he had faster internet than my uncle. Then I was sinking into the warmth of the heavy wool blankets that smelled vaguely of a closet, and drifting off wondering how I knew what a closet’s scent was supposed to be.

 

…

 

The heat came off of the concrete in hazy waves, burning through the soles of my sneakers as I ran. If I stopped, even for a second, my shoes would melt into the sidewalk and I’d be rooted in place. If I slowed down, the monsters would catch up to me.

I could hear them behind me, paws hitting the pavement, breath hot and ragged, fur wild. Their claws were like snow shovels on gravel, their jaws like snapping scissors. I was fast. Really fast. But no matter how hard or how far I ran, the howling always followed.

And while there were shadows at every turn, there was no one else. I screamed and my pursuants laughed. Empty streets with empty windows, concrete stretching to the sky.

It was just me and the wolves.

And they wanted to tear me to shreds.

 

“Vitya!”

Coach had me by the shoulders, shaking me awake. As soon as my eyes were open I knew I’d been crying; cheeks wet and hot, body aching all over again. I clung to him with my good arm, pressing my face against his neck with a heaving sob, and trembled through the tears.

“Coach!”

“Hush, Vitya. It was just a dream. Only a dream.” He lay me back down on the couch, and swept the hair from my face. “You’re all right.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely convinced. Even though I was awake, I could still hear the howling in my head. Faint, distant, but there; cracking at the highest part of their reverie. “Okay.”

He waited for me to calm down, stroking my hair away from the bandage on my head, kneeling there so he could watch me. It couldn’t have been good for his knees.

“I see you’ve found Pyatachok again,” he said after a moment, smile small. “You always seem to.”

After I had a chance to wipe my eyes, I nodded again, forcing a smile of my own. “He’s my little friend.”

Coach picked the plush pig up to inspect, then set it against my chest, folding my arm over him. “Ah. Vitya-Pukh. That explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

“I guess so.” The nickname was unbearably cute, and I laughed in spite of myself, hugging Pyatachok closer. Yes, I was fifteen, but I didn’t care. Plush animals were amazing. Even Coach had some, so who cared?

He patted my head again, large hand gentle and mindful of the bandage. I winced anyway. “I’ve brought your skates back, and your backpack, though I don’t know if anything is missing. Are you up to eating lunch?”

I gave him a blinking stare, trying to process what he’d just told me. “You… found them?”

“Yes.”

The tears welled again, blurring his face and his not-so-secretly pleased smile.  “They’re in the living room. Now, I was thinking soup, da?”

“C-Coach!” I cried. “Thank you!”

“Settle down… we still have much to discuss, Vitya. But first, lunch. I have to get back to work at some point today.”

“Okay,” I sputtered, rubbing at my eyes with my good arm. “Okay, Coach.”


	11. The Forest for the Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor goes for a walk in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Here's another new bundle! Things get much darker before they get better, and I'm so sorry for that... but no one ever said being a teenager was easy! >:(
> 
>  **Bonus fan art:**  
> [Lovely Vitya cRYING](https://twitter.com/LeylaE/status/910590786240110597) by Leyla  
> [Vitya laughing into his salad aka the perfect meme for teen Viktor omfggg ](https://twitter.com/andyonice/status/919731687793287168) by Andy 
> 
> Thank you so much!!! <3 <3 <3 :))) 
> 
> **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Lost Girls_ \- Lindsey Stirling

* * *

 

I stayed with Coach for two days.

They were the best days of my life, even though I never stopped feeling queasy and tired. It was a combination of the medication and my head injury, I guess. Coach said not to worry too much; just take it easy for a little while. It wasn’t a bad concussion, but it was always better to be safe.

People had their careers ended by concussions. It was all too common in our field and in dancing, too. A two week suspension was a light sentence in comparison.

He fed me, showed me how to hold my arm so it wouldn’t ache so much, and watched TV with me in the evenings. He still had work during the day, but brought home dinner when he came back. It was all really good. Fancy restaurant takeout.

I mostly slept, especially when I ran out of stuff to root through that I could easily access with my arm busted. What a time to get a broken wrist. I still had so much to do and I was running out of time. I’d probably have to ramp up my programs over the season just like everyone else.

Before Coach took me back to my aunt and uncle’s house, he gave me a handful of printouts. On these, he’d detailed what he expected me to do in the next two weeks: rest, eat, exercise while being careful of my arm. There was also a dietary guide.

“You’re underweight,” he said. “You aren’t as busy now as you are during the season, so I need you to focus on eating well.”

I’d looked down at my baggy sweater- something he’d picked up from my house -and how the sleeves hung to my fingertips. It was cute. Really cute. I was practically drowning in the soft, warm, burgundy wool. My legs, which I wore form-fitting black leggings over, looked so thin- like chopsticks -coming out of the sweater pile. Super cute.

“Yeah, okay Coach,” I said, but I didn’t really mean it.

“You fainted once last season, Vitya. At a competition. We can’t afford that again.”

I pouted. “Okay.”

“Good.”

But I still wasn’t going to pay much attention. I ate when I was hungry, that was that.

 

At my aunt and uncle’s, I was greeted with a barrage of questions, most of which Coach fielded for me. _Yes, Vitya’s all right. Yes, the boys have been dealt with. Just messing around, things got a little too rough._

Bull shit.

I knew why they did it, and it wasn’t just _messing around_ . But what else could Coach say? The truth of being attacked would have my uncle wanting to press charges. Rounding the men- fully adult grown _men,_ not _boys_ -would get nothing but a target painted on my back. The police looked away from this sort of thing. I wasn’t stupid. All it’d get me is outed to the only family I had left, and they could disown me if they wanted to. No one would blame them.

So it was a misunderstanding and rough housing that gave me a concussion, bruises, and a broken wrist. Nothing to worry about.

Nothing at all.

Coach filled them in on my new diet and what he expected from me in the two weeks before I was allowed to go back to the rink.

“Make sure that he rests and takes his prescription.”

“Of course! We’ll take care of everything, Coach Feltsman.”

“Good, see that you do. And Vitya…”

I looked up from my wrist brace.

“You may call if you need anything.”

“Sure.” I pushed a smile. “Thanks, Coach.”

He left.

“I’ll find a pillow for your wrist. Do you need your medication now? Are you hungry?”

There were only two modes with my aunt: complete denial of my existence and obsessive attentiveness. I always chalked it up to her own kids being grown up, or maybe she was getting old, but I knew I shouldn’t be ungrateful. They’d taken me in without question.

My uncle clapped my shoulder, though his grip wasn’t nearly as strong as Coach’s. It didn’t have the same weight at all. “Really, Vitya. If there’s anything you need, let us know.”

I looked between the two of them, faces stretched in smiles of sympathy and concern. They played the part so well, but I’d never be one of their own. They were ducks and I was the beautiful swan child. A princess in disguise, hidden away by the well-intentioned fairies after the tragic death of the king and queen.

I didn’t belong. I’d known that for years.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Do you want me to make you some soup?”

“I’m not really hungry… Coach fed me before he drove me home.” The disappointment was written in her pinched brows before I even had a chance to take another breath. “Uh. There is one thing I need, though.”

“Yes? What is it, Vitya?”

“My phone…” I pulled the mangled mobile from my pocket and held it out to them, edging the flip top up with my thumb. It swung loose on the hinge. “It sort of still works, but I can’t read any texts or anything. Can we… get me a new one?”

My surrogate parents exchanged glances of a most skeptical nature. _A new phone wasn’t a need,_ I could already hear them saying. _It’s supplementary. You have plenty of things to keep you entertained without that._  

“Of course, Vitya. I’ll go to the shop this afternoon.” My uncle looked very pleased at the surprise on my face, which wasn’t missed by my aunt.

“Great idea!” she said, clutching his arm. “We’ll see if we can get you one like we have.”

“He doesn’t need a Blackberry.”

“He might. He has appointments and things.”

The damaged phone in my hands felt so cheap and plastic in its defeat. “I like the flip phones just fine…”

“Well, we’ll find something! And while we’re at it, I can pick up a new book for you! What would you like?”

She usually brought me back some sort of fantasy or fairytale book, except during that stint when she bought me a dozen books on gardening. I think it was meant to trick me into helping with her flower garden, but it hadn’t worked. “Anything’s fine, Auntie. Really.”

“I’ll find you something nice, then.” _Something nice_ was what she always aspired to. “In the meantime, you need to take your prescription and a nap.”

I stared at her. I couldn’t help it. She was telling me to take a nap. Me, the independent fifteen year-old who could go back and forth between home and the rink, unattended, and be just f-

_Oh._

Frowning, I turned my head to look at the stairs. The sun was shining outside, light streaming in through all of the windows in the sitting room and down the hall from the kitchen, but upstairs was dark.

“Come along, Vitya. Let’s get you taken care of.”

I followed her and did as I was told, then curled up in my bed for a long stretch of miserable quiet until the painkillers took me by the hand and led me into the forest of dreams.

 

The nightmares only got worse.

 

n.y: or you don’t have to come

n.y: it’s no big deal

n.y: mishka are you ignoring me?

n.y: you never take this long to reply

n.y: oh I see, popovich is taking up your time now huh?

n.y: I get it ;)

ny: are you having fun with your new boyfriend?

n.y: it’s been 2 days

n.y: maybe you died

n.y: you didn’t even take my call wow

n.y: and here I thought you were in love with me ha ha

n.y: look i’m sorry for saying you were a ballerina wuss

n.y: are you really going to keep ignoring me?

n.y: what did I do

n.y: fine

 

The phone people were able to transfer the text messages to my new cell. It wasn't a Blackberry, just a flip phone, and it was black instead of purple but it worked. My aunt and uncle had full access until they turned it over and let me password protect it.

“Who’s this n.y person?”

“Are they a girl? You’re not gay are you, Vitya?”

I’d repeatedly denied it to Niko, so they must not have gone back that far. The questions about Georgi were incriminating, though.

“N.y is just a friend who likes to tease me. And no, I’m not gay. Even if I was, I wouldn’t go out with Georgi Popovich.” I made a face, tongue out, to prove it.

My uncle dismissed it with a shrug, but my aunt still looked worried. At least until Georgi’s name clicked in her head. “Oh, Gosha!”

“Yeah. Gosha.”

“He’s supposed to come over for dinner!”

I pressed the bandages over my wrist until it hurt. “Right…” What was Georgi going to say about it? What was Coach going to tell everyone? People didn’t just get attacked without reason; my rinkmates would definitely wonder. What would they think?

What would they do if they knew?

 

Me: sorry niko

Me: I got mugged and my phone broke

Me: I have a new one now

Me: i’m so sorry

 

It was so hard to type. Not because I was one handed, but because I could barely see through the tears. He was upset with me. He’d worried. He’d tried to call me. It made me so happy and so miserable at the same time that crying was the only thing I could think to do.

His reply came a few minutes later.

 

n.y: you got mugged?

n.y: why would they mug you? You’re super broke aren’t you?

Me: maybe they thought I had money because i’m famous

n.y: woah are you okay

Me: broken arm and concussion. I’m not allowed to skate for a couple of weeks

Me: don’t tell your mama

Me: i’ll still be able to skate

n.y: ok

n.y: is your face all messed up?

Me: no

n.y: that’s good

Me: ha why

Me: do you like my face or something?

n.y: they always go for the face

 

My aunt locked the door to the ‘library’ so I couldn’t use her elliptical machine.

“It’s not good for you while you’re recovering,” she said. “You need to think about your health, Vitya!”

“I still need to exercise, though…”

“You’ll just hurt yourself if you try it. Go for a walk instead if you have to do something.”

It’d only been a week and I was suffering. Being inside day in and day out, not doing anything, was killing me. Literally killing me. I was off the pain meds, so I wasn’t sleeping as much as I had been. That left me with a lot of time to be alone with my thoughts and I hated it.

I did yoga in my room, ballet stretches, and worked on the routines that I’d been trying to put together before the wolves got me. Mistress of the Mountain. The Crystal Guardian. I listened to music. I read. I even looked at the magazine my aunt had gotten me- the same figure skating one that I’d autographed for that girl. My aunt didn’t know any better. That was fine. I read it cover to cover anyway.

The photos of me were nice and so was the praise; accurate but not really spectacular.

I went for a walk.

It was cold, even for summer, underneath the trees. My jacket hid the wrist brace and I’d draped my hair to cover the last bandage on my head. The old woods held no interest for anyone but me, but there was no telling what could be out there and it was foolish to reveal such weakness to anyone.

Those who’d attacked me. The boys at the academy. Georgi. One look and they’d know exactly where to strike. It wasn’t hard at all to imagine any one of them taking advantage of the injuries. Which made sense. If I were trying to destroy someone, I’d go for their weaknesses, too. Disarm and dominate.

The woods didn’t have a path per se, just deer trails that I followed through the brush, wandering deeper and deeper into where there weren’t crushed beer cans or discarded pieces of clothing, torn and weather worn. No one had been here in a long time. The trees grew wilder out here, untouched by people. I looked for mushrooms and other trails, tracks in the dirt or moss on the trees. Georgi wasn’t the only one who had access to magic.

I just had to go a little further.

Mushrooms in a circle meant the presence of fairies. Fairies, like any magical creature, had connections. Find the fairy, tap into their network, learn the secrets of the forest like no one else ever knew. Searching the thickets for certain healing herbs could take forever without their help, and every second counted when your unicorn was bleeding out on the forest floor.

We’d been attacked, he and I, travelling home through the woods. A dire wolf led a pack several others, driven by greed and hate of everything pure and good in the world. Maybe they were sent by the wizard. I’d driven them off, but not without my own injuries. And now, clutching my wrist as I made my way through the thorns and twisting branches, I had to find something that would help my magical friend.

A unicorn was weakest in the legs. Though their hooves were sharp and their haunches strong, taking out a leg was as good as killing them. A unicorn could only limp so fast with such a heavy body, and the healing time was ages. Unless, that is, you knew what to make a good poultice with.

Ferns brushed against my legs as I waded deeper to the lush green, taking a blossom from wild garlic and a few of the lilac buds. These I carefully folded into a handkerchief to keep in my pocket. I knelt for a balsam flower, elbow against a nearby tree to brace myself, and scraped some moss with a flat rock to add to the pile.

Tiny white flowers in clumps rested in a small patch of sunlight where the trees had failed to canopy. I broke off a cluster, then checked my phone.

Nothing. Still no response to what I’d sent Niko that morning, but I couldn’t blame him. All I’d done was complain about how bored I was and how I missed skating. He was probably annoyed at me.

I sent a photo of my flora collection.

 

Me: I decided to stop being boring and go explore the woods

Me: look what I found

 

I looked for more mushrooms while waiting for a response, taking a long stick to poke at the wet dirt as I went. There were snakes in the woods. A stick wouldn’t be much good, but it made me feel a little better.

 

n.y: what, no berries?

Me: not yet

Me: but i finally found a mushroom

n.y: the psychedelic kind?

 

Even though he read fantasy books, he was still a normal boy. I had to keep reminding myself of that. He didn’t know what I knew. Not a prince, just a regular boy. I tried to write a response explaining what they were for, but ended up deleting them every time: _It’s magic. I need to help the unicorn. I’m a princess._ None of them would work.

It left me distracted enough that I didn’t notice the pathway sloping down until I stepped and pitched forward with nothing for my foot to land on. The wet earth gave way under my heavy heel, and I slid and tumbled down until I met the little muddy stream at the bottom. I’d caught myself with my arms- both arms -so my head was safe, but it took only two seconds before the fracture in my wrist began an agonizing throb.

It had only been three feet or so from top to bottom, and the water was a shadow to its formal spring-thaw glory, but I was wet and cold and my flowers were being swept away very slowly out of reach.

I sat up, clutching my arm to my chest, and looked down at the mud that caked my pants from knee to soggy shoes. My phone had a leaf sticking out of it, and more plastered to the screen. I carefully cleaned it off, but the screen was dead. My new, beautiful phone had drowned, even in just those few inches.

My aunt and uncle weren’t going to be happy.

They wouldn’t be happy about me tracking mud in, either. Or about rebreaking my wrist, if that’s what I’d done. More laundry to do, probably new shoes to buy. I clenched my toes in my sneakers. There wasn’t a lot of room left in them, anyway, but my aunt always complained when it came to clothes shopping. My parents hadn’t left that much behind.

They didn’t know they were going to die, though. They couldn’t have known.

I settled back on the rocks and looked up at the branches that arced over the little ravine, dark fingers breaking up the bit of grey sky above us.

One problem after another. That’s all I was. A little lost orphan boy in Saint Petersburg with nothing to offer anyone but neediness and a cry for attention.

I sat there for a long time, just listening to the woods, wallowing in misery. Maybe I cried, maybe I didn’t. It doesn’t matter. I hated my life. I hated the people in it, and how awful they were. How unfair it was. But I hated _me_ most of all. I knew that if I hadn’t been so stupid, I wouldn’t have gotten into any of this mess in the first place.

But I _was_ stupid. Foolish for putting all of my hopes into skating, for thinking I was any good, for falling for a dumb boy, for pushing everyone away and lashing out how I did. Worst, I had no idea how to fix any of it. I just hated and hated and _hated._

_Snap._

I stilled for a moment, listening for another sound and it came with a rustle in the bushes up ahead and above me; on the ridge, by a tree. I wasn’t alone. How long had I been there? Who was it?

Quietly, I gathered myself onto my feet and stood, stepping back and away from the water, eyes never leaving the tree.

I saw its eyes first, small and golden in a teardrop of black; then the ears, pointed at top, round at the base. The grey fur was mottled with blacks, tans, and white, light at the points and getting darker in bands. A wolf.

It stared at me and I stared back, holding my breath. It was enormous, bigger than any dog I’d ever seen before, with thick limbs and a full-bodied muzzle. The thick fur rolled as it moved, lifting its head to sniff the air. Scenting me.

I would have peed my pants if I weren’t running on empty.

The wolf waited another second or two before turning and heading back into the forest, taking the silent forest with it. It was when the birds began to chirp again that I fell to my knees, weak and relieved and shaking.

But I should have known. I’d always known.

Wolves didn’t attack humans unprovoked unless they were sick or starving.

Just like people.


	12. Things They Won't Tell You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The list of betrayals get longer as Viktor finds out that his coach has been talking to his aunt and uncle behind his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Can’t Have it All_ \- Sophie Ellis-Bextor

* * *

 

I got home late and rinsed off with the hose before going inside, trailing water from the back door to the carpet. In the bathroom I stripped and left my wet and dirty clothes on the floor with my dead phone on the bathroom counter. Off came the brace, too, which was wet and dirty anyway. I could shower without it and get my aunt to help me with it after.

The bruises were fading but I still looked pitiful in the big bathroom mirror; pale and skinny with wet hair hanging in stringy clumps.

I showered, but with only one hand, washing my hair was an arduous task. It took ten times as long, and I was so tired by the time I finished that I just let it air dry.

“You missed dinner,” my aunt said when I came back downstairs in clean, dry clothes.

Was that all she had to say? I was gone for hours. “Sorry.”

“You tracked in mud, too.”

“I can clean it.”

“Already done.”

The tile by the back door was clean and dry, no evidence of my mistake. “Can you help with my brace?”

“Oh, Vitya, look at this! It’s swollen again.”

“I fell.”

“You need to be more careful. Honestly…”

“I know.” I sighed. “And I broke my phone, too.”

“You what? Really?! Vitya!”

She re-wrapped my wrist and my uncle took my phone apart and put the pieces in a bag with rice. By the next evening, I had my new phone back and in working order, but no new texts from Niko. There was, however, one from Georgi.

 

SecondPlace: hey coach said you got hurt. Are you okay?

 

It had taken them over a week to notice. Maybe they were even glad that I wasn’t around.

 

Me: yeah. Thanks

 

He didn’t reply and I didn’t care.

From then until I was allowed to go back to the rink, I mostly slept. What else was there for me to do? And when I slept, I had nightmares. Running, being chased. Hands holding me, wrenching me back from escape. Touching me. Laughing. Staring down with a hatred so raw and final that it broke my heart as thoroughly as it did my bones.

The wolves always got me. Every time.

Every single time.

But even if I wanted to skip the dreams, I couldn’t seem to stay awake. I was tired.

Tired of everything.

My aunt dropped me off at the rink for my first day back. Two hours late. She insisted on driving to make sure that I’d get there safely- and she had some shopping downtown to do.

“Don’t overdo it, Vitya. I want my nephew to be healthy.”

I waved from the steps. “Yeah, I got it. Thanks.”

“You sure you’ll be okay coming home?”

No. I wasn’t sure. But boys were meant to be brave. “Yeah.”

“Call your uncle if you want a ride.”

“Okay, Auntie,” I said. “Thanks.”

It’d been two weeks, but the Sports Champions Club was exactly the same as I’d left it. My being gone hadn’t changed anything. The same people were doing the same things they always were for their training, utilizing the facility for their chosen sports without a second thought for the world outside their own.

I dropped my backpack and sneakers off in the locker room, pulling the sleeves of my hoodie down to cover the brace on my wrist. Even though everyone on the team knew what had happened, I didn’t want anyone pointing it out. I was just here to get some practice in.

My boots were scuffed from the fall they’d taken on the sidewalk. I’d probably need new ones before the season started anyway, but I hated the look of the coarse marks where there shouldn’t have been any. At least the blades were in good shape; I’d made sure of that. I carried them out to the rink and plopped down on a bench to put them on.

Doing so one-handed was a lot harder than I thought it’d be.

They were broken in enough that I didn’t have to do much to get my foot inside of the boot, but lacing them was another story. My sneakers always stayed tied in a double-knot so I hadn’t even thought about it. I yanked at the laces, struggled to get the right pressure out of my injured hand, and had to start over. If the boots weren’t tight, I’d probably break my ankle. That’d be even worse than a hurt arm.

“Hey, can I help?”

I looked up to see Georgi, standing with skate guards on, cool smile slapped on his face like a permanent fixture. It stayed even when I frowned at him. “Why?”

“You look like you’re struggling here.”

“Well, yeah.” I turned back to the skates, forcing my fingers to grip the shoe lace again, yanking tight enough to make me grimace. “My wrist is broken, but I’ll get it.”

Georgi scratched at his sleeve. “If it’s broken, you shouldn’t strain it.”

I made a loop, tugging again. “I’m not gonna sit here and expect anyone to help me.”

“But I offered.”

“I lace my _own_ skates, Georgi.”

“I’m only trying to help!” His calm facade was finally cracking. “But fine, be that way if you really insist, _Viktor!”_

I didn’t even look at him until I heard the clack of his skate guards as he stomped away. “Yeah, uh huh, thanks for nothing!” I called after him. He didn’t stop. So neither did I. “You know, I don’t _need_ your charity or your pity!”

He didn’t reply and I went back to tying my skate, finishing the work with a half-assed knot. Then I started on the other one, arm aching, cheeks burning.

“You know, you shouldn’t be so mean to him.”  It was Sasha, leaning on the barrier to watch me. “He was really worried about you.”

“Shut up, Sasha.”

“Look, I know you got jumped, but that’s no reason to-”

“I said SHUT UP!” Hot tears poured down my face as I kicked the unfinished skate away from me and got to my feet. When had I started crying? Who knows. It didn’t matter.

“Viktor, woah, calm down.”

There was a flood of red-hot shame and frustration and I couldn’t stand to be where Sasha could see me. Georgi was probably watching, too. Maybe Coach. And all the other people that shared the rink with us.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my brace and half stomped, half thumped back to the locker room, stride uneven with a heavy boot strapped to only one of my feet like a duck with a peg leg. Even with that, I moved fast. Fast enough that I was on the narrow bench in front of my locker in time for the sobbing to start. Not just any sobbing, either; the kind that makes you choke and and sputter and hold your breath in a vain attempt to keep quiet.  

But it didn’t work. It never did. I was loud and got snot on my sleeve and even went as far as to try to hide my face in the dark quiet of my locker, but it didn’t do any good. Everything was wrong. What did I do to deserve all of this? Crying brought the headache back, too; hard and throbbing with every beat of my heart.

It was after several long minutes that I calmed down enough to pull back from the locker and slump down on the bench, looking down at my one blurry skate and the wibbly tile on the floor.

What was I doing?

There was the dull metallic clunk of the door as someone came in from the rink, and the slow, heavy footsteps of someone approaching with caution. Coach.

I wiped my eyes on a clean part of my sleeve.

“Vitya?” he asked, calmly but hiding reproach.

I cleared my throat so my voice wouldn’t crack- “Yeah?” -but it did anyway.

He came to stand at the end of the row of lockers, watching me. “Are you okay?”

I thought about telling him the truth, but I wasn’t even sure what that was. Frustration and confusion weren’t good excuses for acting the way I had. So in the end, I just shrugged and mumbled a little “Yeah.” And then an apology a moment later. “Sorry, Coach.”

“You should apologize to Georgi.”

He didn’t even need to say it harshly for it to sting, and I wiped my eyes again, biting back a fresh, choking wave of emotion. Of course I should apologize. I’d been a jerk. Georgi was only trying to help. I didn’t want him to, but that wasn’t Georgi’s fault. I didn’t _like_ lashing out. I didn’t want to be an asshole. That wasn’t _me._

It took a little bit for me to say anything. Coach waited, patient as ever.

“Yeah,” I said, finally. “You’re right.”

Coach stood there for a little while longer, probably waiting for me to do something. When I didn’t, he turned around and ambled back to the rink.

I stayed where I was for ages after the doors clicked again. I was supposed to be practicing for next season. I really needed to. But I just… _couldn’t._ For the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn’t _want_ to skate.

It all felt so… pointless. In that moment, I realized that everything I’d worked toward didn’t matter at all. No one would care if I stopped, except maybe Coach. But he had Georgi now; he’d get over it. I hadn’t left a mark on history or made an impression anywhere.

I could quit and nothing would really change. I’d still be just as useless, but maybe not as tired.

I had my skate off with minimal effort; untying was a lot easier. I put on sneakers and replaced my backpack with the one boot, then went back out to the rink for the other one.

Sasha was trying to teach Georgi how to land his combos more cleanly. Like me, Georgi focused more on the performance aspect than the technical. I never let it slack, though. Sasha was the opposite. Skill through drills.

Coach was watching them, though he glanced at me as I made my way back to the bench where my skate was.

He could look all he wanted; I wasn’t going to interrupt their practice to apologize. I was going home, and I wanted to avoid getting grilled.

Maybe next time. If there was one.

No one stopped me as I retreated with my skate, and no one came after me when I’d pushed them both in the locker and left the building. I don’t think anyone even looked at me as I went down the hall.

I called my uncle when I got outside. I didn’t think I could handle the trip home by myself; not while I’d been crying. My uncle was good for helping me keep the tears bottled up; he was a friendly guy, but other than at holidays, he was mostly business.

He agreed to pick me up, which left me fifteen minutes to kill.

I texted Niko.

 

Me: so you don’t really like figure skating do you?

n.y: thats kind of a big leap in topics

Me: i’m thinking about quiting

n.y: quilting? Like sewing?

n.y: aren’t you gay enough mishka?

Me: quitting

n.y: if you want to

n.y: but mom would be upset

 

...right, the only reason Niko talked to me was because his mama was my sponsor.

I put my phone away and watched the sky instead.

 

When my uncle came, I was completely tattered. He didn’t ask any questions except if practice was good, and accepted my non-committal responses at face value without complaint.

I skipped dinner and went to my room to cry and sleep and worry that my skates would be stolen. Why had I left them at the rink? I couldn’t give up. I couldn’t let go of my dream. Not for some bullies. Not for some dumb boy. Not for Georgi.

Why why why?

I was so stupid.

 

I skipped my next practice.

“Not feeling well,” I said. It wasn’t really a lie.

“Then you should rest, Vitya!” My aunt was happy to give in to my demands.

I slept and I read and I wallowed. Then I went to my next practice a couple days later, my aunt once more driving, and Georgi avoided me. That was fine. I had work to do. At least my skates were still there.

“Vitya, you’re not supposed to do any jumps until your concussion is- VITYA!”

I didn’t listen. I wasn’t crying, I was determined. Actually, I was _mad._ I didn’t have time to waste. If I was going to be at practice at all, I was going to make it count. That meant jumps, backwards maneuvers, and every other point-grabbing trick I could come up with. My original plan but with extra passion. I wanted gold. I wanted world records.

I wanted to prove to everyone that they were wrong; that I was worth it.

It also meant a lot of falls in practice, and I tried to spare my arm each time by doing the combos with my brace raised high, increasing the difficulty, making my defeats mean something each time.

Every time I hit the ice, I gained experience.

“Vitya!” Coach yelled at me from over the barrier, but he wasn’t on skates so it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. “You’re going to crack your fool head open!”

“Whatever you say, Coach!” I yelled back.

Of course I didn’t listen. Skating angry was _fun_. I got more speed, more momentum, and more lift with each reckless move. My skates hit the ice hard, carving divots, spraying ice shavings like a storm.

“Vitya!” Coach yelled from the entry point, face red, eyes bulging.

Mad. So mad.

I slid to a stop and swallowed.

“Get over here! NOW!”

So very, very mad.

I went to him, but slowly. I couldn’t tell if it was hard to move because I’d worn myself out or if I was really that scared of him.

He handed me my guards at the edge. I took them with my good hand and put them on, one after the other, feeling the heat of anger radiating off of him. Big papa bear was terrifying when he was like this. I stepped off the ice and tried to decide if it was worth attempting a smile while I waited for him to speak.

Georgi and Sasha had stopped skating to watch.

No one said anything for fifteen whole seconds, though it felt like hours and would have been punishment enough. It felt like I was being boiled under his gaze.

“Uhm,” I said, breaking the silence. “I- uh…”

“Vitya.” He cut me off. “If you’re not going to listen to me then you should just quit right now.”

I looked up at him, mouth falling open. “But…”

“No, Vitya. I will not tolerate insubordination, and I’m not going to waste my time on someone so willing to put himself- and others -at risk.”

I glanced back at the ice where my rinkmates stared. The paths that I’d carved in the ice were fresh, glittering scars in the bars of light from the windows. The last time he’d gotten so mad at me was when I’d fallen through the ice at Lilia’s. He’d warned me against skating on the pond, but I’d done it anyway. I was twelve; stupider then than I was now. They were all the same lines, too. Risking myself, risking others. Insubordination. It was the military training rearing its head.

He was being a good general. Someone who would drag my useless body out of the water and carry me back inside, or rescue me from a church after getting beat up, or let me sleep longer at a competition when I was freaking out.

I rubbed the side of my neck, justly chided. “Sorry, Coach.”

“Go home.”

“Uh- wait, what?”

“You’ve had enough practice for today. Go home, Vitya.”

I’d never been sent home before. Not even once. In all the years I’d trained with Coach, it’d always been practice over or my decision to leave early for one thing or another.

“I said I was sorry…” I tried an apologetic frown. “Can’t I just finish up?”

His hands trembled where they were clenched at his sides. “No.”

It was definitive. The kind of no that meant no arguing.

“...fine,” I muttered, and pushed past him. In my head I saw him catching my arm and pulling me into a hug; something to reassure me, but he didn’t. He didn’t even look at me as I walked back to the door leading to the locker room, and all I heard was him barking at the others to get back to practice.

 

My uncle picked me up again, but this time he wasn’t so happy about it.

“You know, Vitya, you’re going to have to start taking the metro again. I don’t think anyone will bother you.”

I rubbed the toe of my sneakers against the floor mat of the passenger seat. He didn’t know why I’d been a target. I didn’t want to tell him.

“I can’t keep giving you rides all the time.”

I sniffed. “Yeah. I know. Sorry.”

 

I waited a week before going back, missing another practice. No one called. Maybe it was expected. Or maybe I wasn’t welcome back. My aunt shooed me out the door anyway, patting my head.

“Go on. Little birds with broken wings eventually have to start flying again, you know.”

My wrist still hurt; the braces hadn’t come off. Why was I leaving so soon?

“Your little friends will miss you at the rink. Don’t miss your bus.”

I put on a baseball cap and left. It wasn’t much, but maybe it’d be enough to disguise myself. The walk was unexpectedly nice, even though I had to pass by the convenience store, largely due to the sunny weather. I waited until I got on the bus before texting Niko, and he kept me nicely distracted until I got to the rink.

No one said anything when I came in, put on my skates and began my drills. Coach was his usual self as if the other day hadn’t even happened. It was a quiet practice and I behaved the whole time. Nothing crazy, nothing inspiring; just drills and a little bit of work on my routines.

When I went home, the crowds on the metro platforms pressed close. They were even worse on the trains. The bus was empty, but dark, and the walk home was terrifying. Even with jacket collar pulled up and the brim of my hat pulled low, I was too exposed. I walked fast, directly from the bus to home without any stops.

Then I went to bed. I wasn’t hungry, I felt sick. I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to hide. My bed was the best place for it. It was the only place I could escape from the ringing howls in my head.


	13. Tough Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor barricades himself in his room and only Coach can coax him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Come Away To The Water_ \- Maroon 5
> 
> Also, please read the author's note at the end.

* * *

 

n.y: skipping practice again?

Me: yeah

n.y: they all sound like assholes anyway

n.y: seriously, you don’t need them

 

I skipped practice for the rest of the week, and the next one, instead spending my time finding stupid projects to do. Like cutting pieces of paper into tiny strips, watering my aunt’s garden even though she said I was bad at it, and texting Niko.

He told me about the books he was reading, about getting ready for their cruise and how he wasn’t going to have internet or cell access. Complained about his family. It sounded like such a normal teenage life. Not like me, getting barked at whenever I tried to help with the dishes or other chores. I was even using the wrong paper for my projects, apparently, which my aunt only told me _after_ I’d gone through an entire ream.

I either wasn’t doing enough or I was doing too much. Get out of the house, she’d say. Go find something to do. I didn’t want to do anything. But not doing anything made me restless. I followed her around when I thought I could get away with it. Went with her to the store. Asked her questions about whatever I could think of- growing up, what her hobbies were, what she liked about being home, what books she read, her favorite music -and finally she snapped at me and told me to leave her alone.  

My aunt liked having her quiet time, I guess.

I tried my uncle, but he was even worse.

“Vitya, just… go outside, or something!”

Just like my papa had been. At least, what I could remember of him. Busy, busy, busy.

Too busy for me.

 

Me: I don’t know if I can take much more of this

n.y: parents are the worst

Me: they’re not even my parents niko

n.y: oh right

n.y: still the worst

Me: what am I going to do

n.y: fight back

n.y: that’s what I always do

 

“Vitya, you’re over watering them again! How many times do I have to tell you not to mess with my garden?”

“I’m just trying to help!”

“You’ll help more if you just…” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but you are too old to be acting like this.”

“Like what?!”

Her hose-free hand sought the bridge of her nose to pinch the pressure point and sighed. “Don’t you have skating practice?”

“No.”

“What are we paying your coach for, then?”

I dropped my gaze to the grass between us; my flipflops, her flats.

“What about ballet? I thought you were going to take some workshops this summer.”

That’d been the plan. But getting there…

“Vitya…” Groaning, my aunt dragged the hose to the side of the house and turned off the faucet. “What are we going to do with you?”

I had no answers for her.

 

It was during dinner that they told me about the phone call. The bowl of okroshka in front of me was as unappealing as my relatives’ conversation had been, all about the drama at the office, the neighbors that I didn’t know, and something about bringing the car into the shop. Nothing that applied to me. And then…

“Oh, yes. Vitya, your coach called.”

The soup was suddenly had all of my attention.

“He said that you haven’t been to practice in a week and a half.”

I pawed at a beet with my spoon. “Huh.”

My uncle drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. If he was prodding for more, he wasn’t doing a very good job. After a few seconds more, he continued. “That’s four lessons you’ve wasted.”

They still had to pay coach even if I didn’t go. So long as there was a contract, we were on the hook for that. _They_ were on the hook for it. I bit my lip, but still said nothing. I didn’t have a lot of money left from the competitions- I really didn’t -but maybe…

“You can’t just ignore your obligations because you’re scared, Vitya!” He thumped the table once with his fist, but it did little more than make the soup dance in our bowls. “Look, if you’re worried about bullies, I can _teach_ you how to be a man. A haircut, some better clothes, less… I don’t know…”

“Dear,” my aunt broke in, reaching across the table to put her hand on his arm. It shut him up right away. Then she turned to me. “We don’t want to squash your creative spirit, Vitya. I know that’s very important to you. But he has a point. You do come off a little…”

I leaned back in my seat and pushed the bowl away from me, as far as my fingertips could manage. “What?” I asked. “What do I come off as? What should I be less of?”

Nether one of them said anything other than hesitant ums and ahs, looking to each other for answers.

I knew what they meant, but I wanted them to say it to my face.

When they didn’t, I excused myself from the table without a word and went to my room, shutting the door with a distinct lack of gentility.

The next day, the door to the library was open and the elliptical was free to use. I worked out until the pain in my arm made me nauseous, and only barely managed to make it to the bathroom in time to throw up. I didn’t feel good and I didn’t look good, either, but my body appreciated the exercise. It was so much better than doing nothing.  

I repeated the process as often as I could, over and over until my aunt caught on.

She pounded on the bathroom door. “Vitya! What are you doing?!”

I had no answers for her; just feverish sweat and the cool tiles of the floor.

“Vitya? Are you sick?”

Was I?

“...Vitya, open the door.”

I pulled my arms over my face, body stretched out in front of the sink, and cried.

 

Unicorns have more enemies than they do natural predators. Left in the wild, they’re able to fight or outrun most anything that would want to eat them. Their horn was a deadly weapon to be used when cornered, able to stab and slash with a whip of their head; their cloven hooves sharp and agile, driven by powerful shoulders and haunches; their jaws strong enough to crush anything that dared to get close to their mouth. Unicorns were fast at running and excellent jumpers, able to leap over debris and other obstacles in their path. And they were quiet, which was good for hiding and slipping through the woods undetected.

A unicorn’s greatest threat were those who hunted them for no other reason but to hurt them.

In the end, it’s really the broken heart that does them in.

 

“Vitya… we wanted to talk to you about something.”

Azerbaijan salad was the meal of the day, and usually a good way to butter me up. I should have known my aunt would use salad to manipulate me. I picked out a chunk of tomato and watched the olive oil slide off the flesh and back into my bowl. Water and oil weren’t compatible.  My gaze shifted to the adults at the table, nodding once when they came into focus.

“Yes, it’s… really important, so we want your input.”

How’d I not notice that my aunt was sitting on the edge of her seat before? Had she been like that the whole meal? It wasn’t like her to be able to keep secrets. Though, really, they probably could have had an entire discussion while I was zoning out and I wouldn’t have noticed. I blinked at her, then at my uncle, and felt a tight frown coming on. They were smiling. A lot.

“What is it?” I asked.

That only made them perk up _more._

“Vitya,” my aunt began. “We’re thinking about getting a dog!”

More blinking. “A dog?” I asked, lips pinching together. I didn’t know if I was ecstatic or angry or shocked or everything at once. The emotions that coursed through me were like an electric shock; a jolt that had the sleepy fog arrested. “Really?”

My aunt nodded, enthusiasm brimming and contagious. “It would be fun! And all boys should have a dog growing up, shouldn’t they?”

She looked to my uncle, who nodded in his sage way, stroking his beard between thumb and forefinger. “I had one when I was about your age. A collie.”

“Oh.” The energy wasn’t letting up. My heart pounded, and instantly I could picture myself running a puppy around the yard; wrestling, cuddling, chasing. Tumbling, fluffy cuteness. “Yeah… yeah, that would be fun! But I thought you guys didn’t want a dog in the house?”

“Well, you’d have to help with taking care of it,” said my uncle, ever the practical one. “Bathe it, feed it, walk it…”

“Clean up after it,” I added, fingers finding their way to the edge of the table to hold on. I might have floated away otherwise. “What kind of dog?”

“We were thinking a poodle.”

My aunt took my uncle’s hand under the table, positively beaming. “They’re sporty, have a lot of energy, and are cute- just like you!”

Cute. She’d called me cute. She hadn’t called me cute since I was little. It made me blush. I’d never considered a poodle before, but maybe…

She continued, leaning forward. “Besides, it would fit right in at the academy, don’t you think?

I laughed. “Auntie, dogs aren’t allowed at Vaganova.” They were crazy. I loved it.

“Ah, but Coach Feltsman says that they’ll make an exception for a service animal!”

The good mood shut down like a light switch and my body froze, any positive energy I had quickly draining away to leave cold dread behind. I cleared my throat with a single cough. I took my glass of water and held it to my mouth, masking my expression. “Coach Feltsman says, huh?” I asked, voice flat.

My uncle put his arm around her, almost like he was trying to protect her from her little slipup. “He thought that it would be good for you, Vitya.”

My grip tightened on the table, but for entirely different reasons. Coach had been talking to them? Without talking to _me_ ? About a _service dog_? Only broken people had service animals.

I wasn’t broken. Did they think I was?

“Vitya, it’d be good for you to have protection after what happened, and a psychiatric service dog can-”

“What?!” I screamed, balling my hands into fists. Forget about the table. “Why, do you think I’m _depressed_ for some reason? Is it because my parents died? Because I’m an orphan and fractured and _obviously_ a basketcase?!”

“Vity-”

“I know, my life is one dramatic story after another! But do you really thing a stupid _dog_ is going to fix that? Or the fact that my damn skating coach is a better parent than my blood relatives?!”

“Vitya!”

I got up, salad bowl tipping over. “No! You know what?! Maybe it’d be _good_ for me to get beat up. Maybe it’d teach me to be tough, like you want. And if I got killed, you wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore! Everyone wins!”

My aunt burst into tears and my uncle stood, putting one hand on her shoulder. “Don't you ever say that!”

I just laughed, the anger and guilt boiling over in a fresh wave of manic tears. There was nothing I could say, it was over. I turned heel and bolted for the stairs. I didn't stop, taking the steps two at a time, arms out to catch myself and aid in the scrambling climb, feet slipping on carpet. They yelled after me and I heard the thumps of the chase on my heels, but I slammed my bedroom door hard enough to cut it off. The finality of my violence in the face of salad betrayal would squash the howling. It had to.

But just when I'd caught my breath, there was a knock at my door; gentle, insistent

“Vitya, let's talk about this!”

“Please, Vitya.”

They weren't supposed to come after me. No one ever came after me. Coach didn't, why would they?! I dragged my desk chair over and hooked it under the knob.

“Vitya, we love you. We just want to help.”

“Go away!” My voice cracked, pitched and squeaky. “Just go away!”

They tried the handle but I'd locked it. Good. I backed away from the door and then fled to my bed and under my covers, fingers sinking into Albert’s mane as I pulled him close to my chest and buried my face against the mattress. We would be safe here. They wouldn't be able to reach the unicorn and the princess. Just as long as I shut everything else out.

 

Three days later, the knock at my door was different. Not the quiet rapping of my aunt, or the slow knuckle tap of my uncle, but a low and steady _thunk, thunk, thunk._

“Vitya?”

I sat up, hair a mop of silver mess in my face. _Coach?_

“Vitya, get dressed and bring your skates.”

I’d been wearing pajamas ever since the betrayal, and had only snuck out of my room at night or when my uncle was at work. So far, I hadn’t been seen. My aunt left food by the door. All I’d done was sleep and text Niko. Even then, my replies were sparse. I didn’t want him to think I was an overly emotional teenage brat or anything. ‘Busy’ is what I’d told him I was. He never asked what I was busy with.

Now Coach was at my door.

I scratched my head and combed my hair back into some kind of reasonable mess, reaching for my nightstand for a hair tie.

“I expect you in five minutes.”

I couldn’t see through the chair to under the door, but I didn’t hear him walk away, either. Was he really going to wait out there? I pulled my hair up, tying it back, then scooted over to peek out through the slit in the curtains out to the yard. The day was bright and sunny, the grass green, a few puffy clouds in the sky. I usually loved days like this. Bunny naps in the grass to soak up the sunshine were some of my favorite moments of summer. But today, I let the curtain fall back into place and fell back against the mattress with a sigh.

Would Coach break down the door if I didn’t come out? I doubted it. For all that he was a big, scary bear, he wasn’t the violent type.

I waited, watching the door, and he knocked again.

“Vitya, we don’t have time for this. Get dressed. Three minutes left.”

I rolled over onto my back.

“Vitya.” Coach’s voice was turning stern. “I’m here to pick you up. Listen to your coach.”

The guilt tugged at me, so I dragged my pillow on top of my face to try to drown him out.

“I’m not leaving until you come out.”

Then my aunt joined him, unable to keep her ‘whisper’ to an actual secretive tone. “See? Like I told you, he won’t leave his room. We don’t know what to do, Coach Feltsman.”

“Leave it to me,” he said. “Vitya, you have two minutes.”

“What if he’s…?” My aunt gasped, and it made me roll my eyes. What, did she think I was _dead_?

“He’s just being stubborn,” Coach replied, sounding as incredulous as I felt. Or nearly, anyway. “Vitya, don’t make this a waste of my time.”

I winced. I didn’t want to do that. Inconveniencing Coach was… I shook my head. “I don’t want to go.”

“Oh, he’s alive, thank god.” My aunt, Mrs. Even More Dramatic than Her Nephew.

Coach ignored her. “You don’t always want to do warmups, either, but you must.”

Groaning, I sat up again. “No I don’t.”

“You don’t have to do warmups?”

I could just _hear_ the frown through his voice. “No. I don’t have to go with you.”

“But I’ve come all this way, Vitya, especially to pick you up.”

Now _I_ frowned. “So? I didn’t ask you to.”

“My appointment book says otherwise.”

Oh. Right. I was scheduled for a practice. I rubbed my neck, taking my dark and messy room into consideration. The rink was a place I’d gone to for comfort a million times over the years. Way more than this bedroom. “You have Georgi and Sasha to coach; you don’t need me.”

“They had practice this morning. This appointment is just for you.”

I turned to the door again. Private practice with Coach? It sounded too good to be true. Enough to be tempting. But…

“Less than one minute, Vitya. Hurry.”

I hesitated a few seconds longer, but it was useless. I couldn’t resist. I got out of bed and hurried to my dresser, digging through the drawers for fresh clothes that I could wear for working out. I’d need a lot of warmups to do any jumps, but that didn’t matter. A practice with Coach all to myself? I’d do whatever he asked. I’d be the best student.

“Ten seconds…”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, geez!” I yelled, hopping on one foot to get my pants on. “Just wait a minute!”

“Five… four…”

“Coach!” I whined, quickly rolling on deodorant and pulling on a t-shirt. “Stop!”

“I can’t believe it…” my aunt said from the hallway, voice just a wisp.

When I opened the door, both Coach and my aunt were standing against the opposite wall. Coach greeted me with a small, but amused smile, and my aunt looked like she was going to cry or yell or both, I wasn’t sure. She stayed quiet as I stomped out of the room, still putting on my socks.

“My shoes are downstairs,” I muttered as I walked right past them.

“Fine,” said Coach, following after me.

Before I knew it, I was in Coach’s car, hugging my skates in my lap. Coach was triumphant, and while I was kind-of-sort-of excited to go skating, I wasn’t happy about being manipulated into it. Coach was like that, though; he always knew just what to say to get me to do what he wanted.

That jerk.

We drove in silence. I watched the scenery roll by. Riding with Coach was a lot better than having my uncle take me. Although, the route Coach was taking to the rink wasn’t the usual one.

In fact… it was the wrong direction entirely.

“...Coach, where are we going?”

He didn’t answer, even as I turned a glare on him. All sorts of emotions cropped up, swirling around and clawing for my attention. Suspicion. Anger. Fear. All with a heaping scoop of nausea.

“Coach.  Coach, are you kidnapping me?!”

“No, Vitya.”

“Then where are we going?!” I cried. ”This isn’t how we get to the rink!”

He stayed calm, gaze fixed on the road. “You’ll see.”

I’d been tricked. Coach had tricked me. What was he doing? Where was he taking me? Why hadn’t he told me what he was doing?! “Take me back home!”

“We’re almost there.”

Where was _there?_ I sucked in a breath and held it, idle fingers playing with the laces of my skate as _fear_ took a larger hold. The possibilities were endless. Another doctor? A different coach? What if he wanted to get rid of me? What if this was a conspiracy with my aunt and uncle to foist me off onto someone else? The orphanage?!

Coach turned off of the road and into the parking lot of a standalone building with a sign that had a big dog as part of the logo. An animal shelter.

Complete and utter _triple_ betrayal.

“Why are we here?!” I wasn’t holding back anymore; I _yelled_. “I told them I didn’t want one, Coach!”

He pulled the car into a parking spot, turned off the ignition, and got out of the car. Still calm.

I stared in horror as he walked around the front of the car and to my door. “I’m not going in there, Coach! I don’t know what you told them, or what they told you, but I don’t need a dumb dog!”

Coach didn’t reply, just opened my door for me.

He was serious. He was going to force me to get a dog. A service animal. A psychiatric support whatever. He really, truly thought I was _broken._

My eyes burned. I didn’t want to cry in front of him. I really, really didn’t. Not again.

“Coach! I swear I’m fine! I don’t need-” I gasped, struggling for the words and way to convince him. Crying wasn’t going to do that, but I couldn’t help it! Did he want an apology? I could do that! “I’m okay! Okay? I’m sorry I didn’t go to practice! I’ll come back! And I won’t yell at my aunt anymore!”

He didn’t reply, only held the door and waited.

“Stop standing there…” Why wasn’t he listening to me? I leaned out of the car and grabbed the door handle, but it didn’t budge with Coach’s steady hands holdin on. I yanked again. “Let’s go to the rink, da? You wanted me to skate? I’ll skate. I promise I’ll skate. Please, Coach. Please.”

Again, he didn’t respond. Coach was a pillar of stubborn patience, strong enough to break my heart.

I choked, sputtering. “Coach,” I tried again, pleading now, tears hot and fresh on my burning cheeks. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He sighed and moved between me and the door, stooping to put his hand on on my shoulder. “Vitya, I’m sorry, but you need help. Out of all the options, this seemed to be the answer. Do you want to go to therapy?”

Everything in me went cold and still. Tight. It hurt. Those words from Coach… the implication… I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want this. Any of this. A therapist would ask prying questions, make assumptions, treat me like- like those guys that attacked me. I’d heard what therapists did. What therapy was like. I shook my head, and my answer came out as a tiny squeak. “...no.”

“Do you want medication?”

Medical records left a paper trail. People talked. Media found out. Medication was bad. It did things to you. It meant that there was something very _wrong_ with you. I wasn’t broken. “No!”

“Then we’re trying a dog.”

It was a statement, not a suggestion.

My gaze fell to the floor of the car, over my skates, under my sneakers. A dog for protection and emotional support. Everyone would know. Would it even help?

It didn’t matter. There would be no arguments with Coach.

He squeezed my shoulder and I unbuckled my seatbelt, leaving my skates behind as I climbed out of the car to accept my fate.

 

The shelter smelled too much like the doctor’s office. Dogs and doctors. It was too clean for what it was, and everyone was _more than happy to help._ I didn’t trust any of it. The posters on the wall were obviously just stock photos of smiling animals. It had nothing to do with the shelter itself. As usual, Coach did all of the talking for me, which was good because I was trying not to cry anymore. Strangers wouldn’t understand a fifteen year-old boy crying when he was about to get some random dog pushed on him.

A lady, who I guess Coach had made an appointment with, took us into her office to go over paperwork and instructions. I couldn’t pay attention to anything she said, though; her ‘soothing’ voice was drowned out in everything going on in my head.

Coach passed over a written prescription from the team doctor, documents were signed, and soon the lady was walking us past rows of kennels so I could meet my ‘perfect match.’ As if she knew anything about me.

The dogs that we passed spun circles and barked, tails wagging. They all wanted love. I just wanted to go home.

We came to another lobby at the end of the cages, and while we waited for the lady to come back with my potential dog, Coach rubbed my shoulder.

It didn’t stop me from muttering. “I hate this.”

Coach didn’t reply.

The lady came back with a curly brown dog trotting at the end of a leash. It was a poodle, but not like the ones I was used to seeing. It almost looked more like a teddy bear than a dog, but the floppy ears and paws, along with the wagging tail and lolling tongue gave it away.

It was… really cute. Painfully cute.

The lady stopped the dog by tugging on the leash, then smiled at me. “This is Makkachin. He’s six months old, already fixed, and has all of his shots. We’ve been working on basic commands, but he still needs a lot of training.” She leaned down to pet the dog’s curly fur. “Poodles are athletic dogs, so you’ll have your hands full keeping him exercised, young man.”

Was adding a lot more stress and obligations good for someone who was apparently depressed or whatever?

The woman clicked her tongue. “Makkachin, sit.”

Makkachin looked up at her then sat, back end sliding on the tile. The lady patted his head again and he wagged his tail hard enough that it had his whole body wriggling.

“Come say hello, Vitya. It’s okay, he’s really friendly.”

The floppy dog looked up at me, panting mouth almost like a smile. He was happy. Too happy. I didn’t _belong_ with happy.

Coach set his hand on my back and gave me a nudge. “Go on, Vitya.”

Frowning, I went up to the dog and crouched to be at his level. How were you supposed to address a dog? Would he even understand? “Uhm. Hi, Makkachin.”

The young poodle cocked his head to one side and sniffed, mouth closing.

“Um.” I looked up at the lady, helpless.

“He’ll shake your hand if you want, Vitya.”

I put out my hand, palm up, even though the dog could definitely bite me if he wanted to. “It’s… nice to meet you, I guess.” I tried to smile and it didn’t work. I felt so stupid. What was I doing?

Makkachin looked down at my hand, ears flopping forward, and then lifted a paw to pap my palm. Then he looked up at me waiting for me to confirm that he’d done what I wanted.

His paw pads were warm in my hand and he didn’t move when I closed my fingers around his little wrist. Instead, he wagged his tail harder.

“H-He… He…” I struggled with the words, covering my mouth with my braced arm as if that would stop the onslaught of emotion coming out in a huge, ugly sob. It was like the pup had wrapped my heart in a big, fuzzy blanket, and I just-- I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I dropped to my knees. “He SHOOK MY HAND!”

Then the dog was licking my face, lapping up the tears while making soft little huffing sounds. Comforting me. This dog already loved me and he didn’t even _know_ me. I cried harder and wrapped my arms around his neck. He kept licking me, all over my stupid face because I couldn’t stop crying, and he _loved_ me.

“Oh Vitya…” Coach sighed, but he there was no disguising the relief in his voice.

“H-he’s so… beautiful,” I sobbed. And he was. Makkachin was the most beautiful, perfect thing in the world and he was mine and he loved me and I loved him more than anything else except for maybe, _maybe_ Coach. My fingers dug through his fleecy fur and Makkachin just wiggled in my arms, tail going crazy.

“There, see?” Coach said. “You’ll be just fine.”

“It looks like it was a good fit,” the lady said.

“Seems like it. Shall we take him home, Vitya?”

Home. I was getting to take Makkachin with me. “Y-y-yeaahhhh!” I wailed, and it was embarrassing, but I didn’t even care.  “I love him so much… I love you, Makkachin! Ack stop licking my ear, that’s so weird, oh my god!”

He didn’t stop, not until I was laughing so hard that I toppled over backwards, Makkachin pouncing right after. It was so cute, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: Medication
> 
> I should have added this author's note from the beginning, but kept forgetting to. In this chapter, little Vitya mentions a lot of reasons for not wanting to try medication (or therapy) as a way to deal with his depression. There is a TON of stigma surrounding anti-depressants, so it's hard to blame him for being scared, but most of it is not true at all. Medication can be a wonderful tool and veritable _lifeline_ for those of us with mental illnesses, and I'm quite sure he could benefit from treatment along that vein. Heck, I take anti-depressants, myself, and it has made an enormous difference for me. If you're struggling, I strongly encourage you to seek out what help you can get, including medication and therapy. Don't let the myths and rumors scare you away from having a better life. You don't have to live through this pain. You don't have to suffer alone. I know it's hard, but there are ways to get through it and there is support out there for you, one way or another, somehow. Please get the help you need. Please do this for yourself. It'll be okay.


	14. A Princess and His Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor finds that adjusting to his newfound responsibilities as a pet parent are extremely rewarding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Einstein Groovin’_ \- Ilaria Graziano/Seatbelts

* * *

 

Makkachin and I rode home in the back of Coach’s car with my skates in the passenger seat. In one arm I had my dog, who was sort of sitting in my lap, sort of standing to look out the window, and sort of trying to run to the other side of the car; and in the other arm I had a bag of supplies that the lady sent home with me. There was a vest for him to wear that said ‘Service Dog In Training’ that he was supposed to wear when we were outside, a bag of the same food that he’d been eating, a clicker trainer, a rubber duck, and half of a blanket. The blanket, she’d explained, smelled like Makkachin’s mama, and would make him comfortable in his new home.

Did that mean it hadn’t ever been washed?

“Coach,” I said over the top of my wiggly puppy’s head, wrestling to try to keep him still. “Should we stop somewhere to get him a bowl or something? Or a bed?”

“All of that is already at the house.”

“Huh?”

“Your aunt and uncle have gone out and bought everything needed.”

I frowned and Makkachin licked my face. “When did they do that?”

“When you were locked in your room.”

“...Oh.”

As soon as we got home, Makkachin wanted to explore, so I took him all around the property line on the leash and let him walk around while Coach talked to my aunt and uncle. Nose to the ground, it didn’t take Makka long at all to find lots of interesting smells, and his tail never stopped wagging, not even once. He was so excited!

“I know, there’s a lot of rocks and bugs and stuff,” I said. “Just wait until we go look in the woods, too. There are birds and squirrels and deer...”

He looked up at me, nose twitching, brown eyes sparkling, and smiled with pink tongue hanging out. So cute. I was going to die from how cute he was.

And of course he had to mark everything, but this was _his_ home. He was going to stay here with us forever, except when he came to school with me, so he needed to mark it. _Makkachin’s territory._ It meant he liked it. He was happy. I was happy.

“Vitya!” My aunt called from the back door. “We want to meet Makkachin!”

“Okay!” I called back. Of course they’d want to meet him. He was the best thing ever. “Come on, Makkachin. Let’s go see what stuff they have for you.”

We ran to the house, both of us panting by the time we got there, and my aunt showed me where Makkachin’s food and water bowl was before she got me a glass of water, too. Makkachin drank by lapping the water up, drenching his muzzle in the process. But he looked so happy about it, licking his lips after.

Both my aunt and uncle took turns cooing over him, offering pets and praise, and he ate it up. Makkachin was definitely a ham, and deservedly so. Best dog. Perfect dog.

Then the three adults, me, and Makkachin went into the living room to look at all of the toys and things my aunt and uncle had for him. Rawhides, squeaky bones, stuffed animals, brushes, treats… he was one spoiled dog. Once I added the rubber duck and the blanket scrap, he was rolling around in the pile, paws up in the air, making all sorts of happy little grunting noises, looking for all the world like it was the best day of his life.

I hoped it was. It was for me, too.

I sat on the floor with him so I could rub his belly, which he also seemed to really like, and Coach went over the paperwork one last time with everyone. I had to take Makkachin to training sessions twice a week, which was fine, and I had several things that I was supposed to do with him daily. Mostly, it came down to keeping him with me and making sure he was taken care of, which was also just fine with me.

“I’ll leave you to it, Vitya,” said Coach as he got off the couch. “Make sure to bring Makkachin to practice, da?”

Makkachin was allowed to go to practice? Oh right, the vest! “Yeah! I bet he’d like the ice! Wouldn’t you, Makkachin?”

Makka looked at me, tilting his head with his ears all lopsided against the carpet.

Coach looked like he wasn’t quite sure about the idea, himself, but didn’t say anything about it. Instead he shook his head and smiled. “I’ll see you then, Vitya.”

“Okay, Coach!”

“Take good care of him.”

“I will!”

“I was talking to Makkachin.”

I gaped. “Makkachin is perfect.”

Coach chuckled. “Of course.” And left.

 

After I gave Makkachin a tour of the house, I took him for a walk around the neighborhood, then out to the edge of the woods. We didn’t go in too far, though, because I didn’t want either of us to run into any wolves or boar. A big dog might be able to manage okay, but a young one would probably run head-first into trouble. When we got back to the house, I gave him a good brushing, fed him, took him back outside to potty. I didn’t even mind cleaning up after him.  

At the end of the end of the day, I got ready for bed, said goodnight to my aunt and uncle, and showed Makkachin his little comfy dog bed in my room. He got in, spun around three times, and curled up with a _whumf_ and a great big yawn.

“Goodnight, Makkachin,” I said, and crawled into my bed, too. I scooted to the edge so I could watch him, and he watched me, chin resting on the padded edge. With the curtains, my room was dark enough for sleep, but not dark enough that I couldn’t see the details of his curly fur, or his paws and how they were tucked against his belly.

I smiled at him and he wagged his tail.

“Hey, Makka,” I whispered.

The wagging stopped and he cocked his head at me to listen.

“Do you like being on the floor?”

His head tilted the other way.

“You can come sleep on my bed with me if you want.”

Makkachin’s nose twitched as he sniffed the air, probably thinking it over.

I patted the bed. “Come here, Makkachin. Makkachin, come.”

He got up, stretched, and walked over to the side of the bed, then sat like he’d been trained to do. Like the good dog that he was. I slithered over until I could wrap my arms around him and drag him up onto the bed with me. “C’mon, Makka.”

Then I rolled onto my back, pulling him onto my stomach. He army crawled until he could lick my mouth, front paws stretching on either side of my head, back paws stretching out behind him, tail wagging again. He yawned right in my face, tongue curling, then let his head rest on my neck.

I rubbed his back and his sides and listened to him breathe, warm and alive. And sleepy. My fingers brushed over his ears, long and soft, to the delicate smooth skin underneath. Makkachin trusted me so much, let me explore his feet and how the fur poked between his toes and pads. I poked his nose and he just sort of looked at me, then went back to sleep. When I stroked his shoulders, he rolled onto his side.

Before long, I fell asleep, too, and all I dreamed about Makkachin chasing butterflies.

 

n.y: so he’s a poodle?

Me: yeah! His name is Makkachin

n.y: i thought you didn’t want a dog

Me: I changed my mind. He’s really cute

n.y: i guess. what’s with the vest?

 

It’d been a couple of days, and Makkachin and I were on the train headed to the rink. So far, our travels had been successful. He was great on a leash and pretty polite on transit, even though he got distracted. The vest let him board public transit without a problem, though it turned the heads of everyone else. They all wanted to know what the vest was for.

“Service animal?” they asked. “What’s he a service animal for?”

“What does she do?”

I kept Makkachin close, asking him to sit right against my feet when we’d gotten a seat. He looked around, smiling at the attention, but I didn’t know what to say. The answers I did have I didn’t want to give. “Uhm. I’m training him to... “

Some of the time, that was enough of an answer. They’d fill in the gaps themselves with their own, or get distracted by petting Makkachin, who licked their hands in greeting. Other times, they pressed and pressed. I had his paperwork in my bag and his licence in my wallet, but I didn’t want everyone to know. _No_ one needed to know why I had a support animal. Especially not the people who recognized me. And I was pretty recognizable.

I wish they’d leave me alone. And Makkachin, too. The vest even said not to touch him, but somehow they never noticed _that_.

 

Me: he’s my guard dog

n.y: oh, because you’re famous?

Me: something like that

n.y: he’s not very scary

Me: he’ll get bigger

 

At the rink, Makkachin and I took a few laps around the building before we went inside so that he wouldn’t be restless while I was skating. Sasha looked us over when we came in but went back to skating, and Georgi stared with wide eyes.

Coach came to greet us.

“Makkachin, good job bringing Vitya with you,” he said.

I grinned up at him, even though of course it was _me_ who brought _Makkachin_ to the rink. “He’s doing a good job, Coach. You’d be proud of him.”

“I’m sure I would.”

I sat on the bench and tied Makkachin’s leash to the bar, then set to work putting on my skates. My wrist was still in the brace, but it was a lot, lot better than it was before. It hardly hurt at all to lace up my skates. “I wanna work on some quads today.”

“As long as you do your warmups and drills first, Vitya.”

“Okay, Coach!”

“Uh, hey.” Georgi said as he came over, hanging on the barrier. “Is that your dog, Viktor?”

I fought the urge to hide him, to protect him from my rival, and nodded instead. I didn’t want Georgi of all people to see the vest, _or_ to make fun of him for being a _fru fru_ dog. “Yeah. He is.”

“Cool! What’s his name?”

I ruffled Makka’s ears, keeping a cautious eye on Georgi. The last time we’d really spoken, I’d yelled at him. “Makkachin.”

“Hi, Makkachin,” he said. “He’s really cute, Viktor. And he’s being so good!”

“Yeah… he’s a really good dog.” It was too hard to not feel proud of him, which meant that it was also too hard to resist smiling. “Aren’t you, Makkachin?”

Makkachin wagged his tail, panting out a smile.

“And he looks so soft.” Georgi bit his lip. “Can I… can I pet him?”

Behind me, Coach grunted a sort of laugh and walked away, muttering something about skaters under his breath. Coach wanted me to play nice, I knew that; getting along with my rinkmates made his job easier and everyone’s lives better.  So I sighed. “Yeah, I guess so.” And Georgi joined us as soon as he put on his skate guards.

Makkachin loved it, of course, though he stayed closer to me than to Georgi the whole time. It was only a couple of minutes anyway before Coach came back and told us to get back on the ice. We had work to do, after all, and my dog needed a nap.

On the way home, Makkachin and I walked past the convenience store on the opposite side of the street. I kept us going at a brisk pace, stopping only once so he could mark a street lamp- which I decided was a diss against those guys. This was Makkachin’s turf now, too, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to me.

Even so, we weren’t going to wait around for anyone to talk to us. I didn’t even want to think about what they would say about the vest. Queer and emotionally unstable? What if they attacked Makkachin, too? I couldn’t let that happen.

 

At dinner, my aunt and uncle tried to give Makkachin scraps of chicken kiev.

“No, Makkachin isn’t supposed to have people food.”

“But Vitya, it’s just a little bit.” My uncle was a big softie as it turned out.

“No,” I said. “Not even a little bit.”

“Vitya, he’s so cute.” Now my aunt was trying. “Are you sure? Chicken is supposed to be good for dogs, isn’t it?”

I frowned at her. “Not even chicken.”

“What about the leftover bones? Can he have those?”

“No! _Especially_ not chicken bones! Everyone knows that those are bad for dogs!”

They laughed. Maybe they were just kidding, but they were being crazy. I was going to have to watch them carefully to make sure that they didn’t give Makkachin anything he wasn’t supposed to have.

“You guys better not teach him any bad habits...”

“But Vityaaaaa!” They whined. “He waaaants some!”

I looked from them to Makkachin, who was eating dog food out of his bowl, then back to them. “No.”

“Oh, Vitya’s so serious and responsible.”

“Such a smart young man.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Stooooop.”

“What about ice cream? Can he have ice cream?”

“Nooooo!”

Were anyone else’s families like this?

 

When it came to service training, it was more about training me than training Makkachin. Makka was already part way through the obedience course, but I had to learn how to control him at home and in public. I had to be strict and careful; Makkachin was a working dog and my responsibility. No one else’s. He was going to take care of me and I was going to take care of him.

And… they’d been right, too. A poodle was a great fit. Not only were they hypoallergenic with beautiful, non-shedding fur (which the Academy Board would be happy about), but they were athletic, smart, sporty, and emotionally sensitive dogs. Makkachin needed to be exercised just like I needed to be exercised, and he could tell when I was happy or sad or teetering on something else. Anticipating that was one of his jobs, and though it was embarrassing- really embarrassing -working through that with the service group people was actually kind of encouraging.

If I was struggling, Makkachin would eventually know how to handle it in ways that could help. What I guess I had were called panic attacks brought on by post traumatic stress, among other things, and Makkachin would act as an anchor for that.

It was going to be a long process, but he made it easier. It was hard to get too worked up when he was so calm.

It didn’t take long for us to settle into a routine. Cuddling every night, getting up every morning to go right outside. We had a schedule for walks and feeding, practice, training, and playtime. I worked in hours for figuring out my programs to get back on track for the next season in between our at-home training sessions for basic drills, where I’d coach Makkachin on his basic commands.

And then, of course, we had leisure time, since Makkachin was still just a puppy, and it was summer break after all.

I’d take the stereo out in the backyard and we’d lie in the grass together, watching the clouds and the sunflowers sway in the breeze while flipping through the stations to find inspiration. Makkachin chased his tennis ball or chewed on the rubber duck, or sometimes just stretched out next to me, content to press against my side. When a song came on that I knew, I’d sing it to him and tell him what I knew about it, since context changed everything. If I didn’t know, I’d make something up, since Makkachin wouldn’t be able to tell, and it was always fun to have a story.

Sometimes my aunt would bring us snacks- dog treats and fruit, mostly -and sometimes we’d be left alone for hours until the grass got too cold and we had to retreat inside for dinner.

I told Makkachin everything… all about the princess and her hidden life in the woods with the fairies, waiting to be rescued. I told him about the tiger living in the giant sunflower, and the unicorns’ secrets. I told him about bears and stags and fairy rings and stardust and comets and how everyone has a soulmate, somewhere out there that they’re supposed to find.

Makkachin listened to everything that I had to say, and flopped in my lap to ask for more pets and stories when I was finished. So then I told him about Niko and Gavrik, and life at the Academy, and what Feliks was like. I explained war paint and how _I_ was a princess, and that it’d never felt quite right to _just_ be a boy, and how Coach and Lilia had never made me choose.

Then I talked about ballet and skating, and how I loved to dance on ice or off, and that it was my favorite thing in the whole world to do.

And then, at night, when we were just about to fall asleep, and Makkachin was curled up in my arms, eyes closed and breathing deep and even… I told him about my mama and how much I missed her sometimes.

One day, I’d be famous enough that Makkachin wouldn’t need to wear a vest. In fact, he’d be so well-trained that he’d be able to go without a collar or leash at all, and no one would say anything. He was my best friend, and if the world wanted Viktor Nikiforov, they’d have to take Makkachin as he was, untethered and unashamed, too.


	15. Masks of Bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifi comes to visit allowing Viktor to try on his Free Skate costume for next season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  _Time To Pretend_ \- the Jingle Punks Hipster Orchestra

* * *

 

Me: I’m gonna be gone for a couple of days

n.y: going somewhere?

Me: no, but I’m doing a photoshoot

n.y: ...so?

Me: so it’s a lot of work and I’m gonna be really really really tired

n.y: too tired to text?

Me: yeah probably

n.y: uh huh

n.y: just what kind of photoshoot is this

n.y: a dirty one? mishka

Me: No!!!!

Me: it’s just skating photos and ballet and stuff

Me: it pays for my costumes

n.y: uh huh if that’s the case then you can take pics

Me: no there’s a nondisclosure

n.y: that’s what I thought

Me: cmon niko

n.y: dirty mishka

Me: ugh maybe I’ll share when I get the proofs you jerk

n.y: haha

 

Last summer, I went to Paris to be a model for miss Fifi Séverine, a French artist and fashion designer. Modeling was fun enough, but I did it because it was the only way I could get the costumes I wanted for my skating career on my budget. That is to say, they were really expensive, and I was super broke.

I met Fifi a year and a half ago back when I was just a nobody skater. Feliks and I were were at the Mariinsky theater doing rehearsals we had for upcoming exams, and Fifi was doing design work for the ballet companies with her studio. French was a required study at Vaganova as it was _the_ language of ballet, and many of our graduates went on to perform there professionally, so it made sense that such renowned talent would crossover. But when Fifi saw me, and when I saw her, there was a connection that was more than just coincidence. It was destiny.

She asked if my mother was a ballerina, too, which she was… and called me her little unicorn.  I guess she’d always wanted my mama to model for her, but she’d never had the chance. Mama had always been too busy; always dancing, always touring. She’d been famous, after all.

And then she was gone.

With me, she’d have another chance.

“You look so much like her,” she’d said. “Vitya, my precious little unicorn.”

She’d taken my designs for _The Wishing Star_ and made them a reality. This year, she was going to do the same for _The Crystal Guardian of the Mountain._ I couldn’t wait. I really couldn’t. But in light of everything that had happened already this summer, _she_ was coming to _me_ instead of having _me_ go to _her_.

“This way, we can get some photographs of you on the ice, _non?_ I’ve talked to your coach; we’ll have someone do an interview, too; a feature on your career and the upcoming season.”

“Do you wanna take some photos of Makkachin, too?”

“Of course I’d like to take photos of _le petit Makka-chien!”_

I thought that would be my favorite part. When she arrived with her two-person camera crew and additional model-and-scoundrel, Rafe, they first came to my house to meet with my family and take a bunch of random photos of me and Makkachin to have on hand for publicity stuff. The garden, Fifi said, was perfect for that sort of thing, which made my aunt really, really happy. Her petunias were her pride and joy.

I talked about Makkachin, mostly, and how he was getting so big even in the three weeks that I’d had him, and that he loved food even though I did my best to not let him steal any. I talked about skating, too, of course. How it was fun again. I didn’t use those words exactly, but it was easy to to go on about how inspired I felt, and how I hoped I never lost this feeling, this _love_ for it. I always wanted to skate and to dance and to create.

“What about next season?”

Next season…

I was going to show a whole new side of myself next season. Surprise everyone with what I could do. I’d broken records before, but this was going to be something else. Not that I could get into specifics; that would give too much of my power away. I’d read _The Art of War_ before; I wasn’t stupid. I’d let the photos do the talking for now, be coy and teasing in my answers, and then blow them all away with my programs.

Fifi _loved_ it.

“Vitya, this is perfect,” she said, hugging me around the neck. “Now let’s do a fitting for your costume and tomorrow, we’ll take to the rink to get some action shots, _non?_ ”

“Okay!”

While the crew cleaned up, Fifi joined me inside the house, and handed over the garment bag that held my costume for the season. I raced upstairs to try it on with Fifi’s voice calling after me in warning. “Be careful with that, Vitya! It’s not finished, you know!”

“I know, I know!”

I was careful, laying the bag on the bed and unzipping it as gently as possible. Taking the lycra and mesh costume out from it was like lifting a razor-thin leaflet of ancient text.

Makkachin watched me, tilting his head.

“It’s not finished,” I explained. There were parts of it that were still held together by pins or with loose seams. Whatever the case, it was gorgeous. So, so beautiful. “Ohhhhhh,” I breathed, holding it up in the light of my bedroom window. “Makka, _look.”_

He looked, and tilted his head the other way, tail thumping on the floor in approval.

I set it back down and shed my clothes from the interview without a second thought. Cute as they were, I _had_ to try the costume on immediately. I had to know how it felt. I had to twirl that half skirt, to see what that mesh was like against my skin.

In moments, I’d slid it on, pulling it up along my body, reaching behind to zip it up- though I could only get it part way with my arm. I frowned. “Fifi?”

“Are you ready for me to help?” she asked from the other side of the door.

Pouting, I picked up the material that had gathered around my feet, and waded over to let her in. “It’s so loose.”

“That’s by design. Turn around.”

I did as I was told, but rolled my eyes for good measure. “You’re going to take it in, right?”

“We’ll see.”

She finished zipping me up, then stepped around to look at me, lifting my arms, pulling me this way and that. “Beautiful, Vitya. What do you think?”

I looked down at myself, then to the skinny mirror I had in my room. It did look good, but it was still so loose; especially in the legs. I twisted my hips so the skirt swished, which was perfect; just what I wanted, then pulled up on the sleeves until the fabric only bunched at my elbows. “Just how much do you think I’m going to grow, anyway?”

“You’re at that age… you’ve _already_ started,” Fifi said, shaking her head as she showed me her cloth measuring tape. “I think you’re probably going to get as tall as your papa. I don’t want to have to remake this costume halfway through the season.”

I frowned. “I don’t think Coach is _that_ tall, Fifi.”

Fifi tapped the top of my head with her pen twice, then scribbled on her pad of paper. “I meant your other papa, my little unicorn.”

“My other…?”

_Oh._

She smiled and made some adjustments to the pins and things, taking notes while stood there like a flustered dandelion about to blow away in the breeze. I guess it made her job a lot easier, at least.

“There. I’ll make some adjustments tonight for the things I have for you to wear tomorrow.”

“Wait… don’t I get to wear this?”

She tapped her lip. “You don’t want to spoil the surprise, Vitya. It won’t make as big of an impact. Besides, I don’t want you to ruin it before it’s ready. I know you like to jump.”

I pouted again, but she just patted my head.

“You’ll like what I’ve brought for you, don’t worry.”

Fifi unzipped me, then left so I could get changed. I let myself have a few moments to admire it, though, pulling it tight with my good arm, shifting back and forth in the mirror. The crystal fittings were so pretty, the mesh sheer and dark against my pale skin. The black lycra looked like leather, which was undeniably _cool_ . Fifi had taken my drawings and transformed them into something incredible. The patterns just what they needed to and, angled just right, really did suggest either male or female form. Both. _Me._

I loved it.

I loved it so, _so_ much.

And that splash of red under the skirt was just the right amount of _danger_ for the mistress of the mountain. It was just so cool! Watch out, she just might get you. Ahh! I just couldn’t handle it! Perfect!

I took it off just as carefully as I’d put it on, and gently laid it back in the garment bag, zipped it up, and got dressed again. Makkachin tried to lay on top of it, but I shooed him off. Then I brought it back to Fifi and surrendered it with a heavy amount of reluctance.

“I love it,” I said.

“I know you do,” she replied. “We make a good team.”

I hugged her, and she hugged me back, laughing.

 

The next day, they set up a photoshoot at the rink, and even though I wasn’t doing anything particularly complicated, it was a hundred times more exhausting than any regular skating. Probably because I was having to change costumes and do things over and over again. And, to make matters worse, I was having to skate with _Rafe._ At least he _could_ skate. Not very well, though. He could do the basics, and it was enough to make him very, very cute, but there were no jumps and no impressive spins of any kind. But his job was to stand there and make me look pretty. Was Russia going to stand for it? I had no idea.

Then again, this was all for Fifi’s designs, so maybe it didn’t matter. She had me in all sorts of pretty, flowy things that would definitely _not_ be ISU approved. Coach probably wouldn’t have approved, either, but I was good enough that I knew how to not get myself killed.

Plus, according to the camera crew, the natural lighting from the giant windows was incredible for the shoot. So that was good. Nothing wrong with getting some nice photos, even if they _were_ with a scoundrel. At least in some of them.

“Ah, my beautiful Viktor,” Rafe crooned against my ear when I’d finally gotten us into a convincing pair skate pose. “It’s so nice to see you again, to hold you like this.”

“You really shouldn’t be saying stuff like that when I could cut you with my boots, Rafe.”

“Oh, but you wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“Do you want to find out?”

“Mmmm, perhaps I would. I do love a feisty lover… and that blush is _so_ becoming on your face.”

“RAFE! Are you pestering Viktor again?! He’s supposed to look relaxed, not like he’s about to _kill_ you!”

“Apologies,” Rafe called back to Fifi, bringing his hand up from my leg and back to my hip where it belonged. “It’s difficult to resist.”

“I’m having difficulty resisting elbowing you in the _face_ ,” I muttered. “Seriously.”

“So cold for such a delicate flower. My little ice princess.”

I elbowed him hard in the gut. “Oh, whoops, sorry, Rafe!” After he goosed me last summer, I had no sympathy for him whatsoever. That jerk. “Cripes, I didn’t- oh, are you okay?”

He bent over, laughing, groaning, pawing for me even as he slid backward. “You- never cease to- huuu -surprise me!”

I scooted out of his reach and turned to Fifi. “How about another jump?”

“Sure,” she laughed. “We have one last costume change for you to wear and our time is almost up, anyway. Rafe, you can take a break.”

Raphael looked so forlorn as he took a turn on the bench, while I went back with Fifi to the locker room for one last image change.

Fifi took my hair down and cleaned my face of the previous makeup, then redid it all in smooth, pale foundation to start. Rose petal blush for my cheeks, dark cherry for my lips, and an impressive blending of greens and blues for my eyelids took care of the color before she gave me the most dramatic blacker-than-black war paint mascara I’d ever had. Long, luscious, beautiful eyelashes, eyeliner, wings, the works. It was so intense I almost died.

She did my hair down in long, loose curls, then had me dress in formal men’s ballroom attire- all whites, creams, and ivories, like a late 1800s opera ghost, with ruffles, flowy sleeves, and bared chests. To top it all off, she gave me the following props: a charcoal overcoat with tails, a gold pocket watch with chain, a single long-stemmed rose, and a white and gold unicorn masquerade mask.

“Is this vintage?” I put the mask on with Fifi’s help, tilting my head to catch my eyes in the mirror. The makeup in shadow was even more drastic, making my pale eyes terrifying. I couldn’t help smiling. It was _so_ effective!

“No, Vitya, it’s all me. Do you like it?”

“I love it, Fifi! I love it! Do I get to keep it?”

“You couldn’t afford it, my darling. Not with what I’ve used to make it. But wear it with pride. It suits you.”

I stared at my reflection, eyeing the golden accents and shimmering gems that made up the horn; how intricately weaved the metalwork was behind the feathers. Just what was this mask? How much was it worth? My smile faded.

“Don’t worry, we won’t have you doing anything drastic in it, and it’s insured.” Fifi squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s have you go lie on the ice now, shall we? This will be the most stunning photoshoot yet.”

I nodded. A lot. So much nodding.

 

Georgi came in sometime in the last ten minutes of the shoot, which was lucky since it was kind of intense. They’d brought backdrops and things from the Mariinsky and put down carpet runners on the ice to get around me, allowing them to take photos from all sorts of angles. It would have felt really silly if I weren’t intimidated by all of it. By and by, though I was able to get into it, too. The drama of it was kind of addicting, and their encouraging comments helped a lot.

The overcoat kept me from getting too cold while lying there, one arm outstretched, fingers pink against the blue-tinted ice, red rose just out of reach. They pulled my hair this way and that so it was artfully strewn, directed me how to angle my head, point my toes, which direction to look. Then it was photo after photo as I slowly got up, lips pursed in a pout, taking the rose, checking the pocket watch, sitting on the ice, moving into a ballet pose, pulling the mask down over my face, getting up, doing a spin, ending in another artful pose.

“Is this really what you do, Viktor?” Georgi asked from the barrier. “I thought this was supposed to be for some interview.”

I frowned over at him, pushing the mask up on top of my head. “That was yesterday… this is for the fashion shoot.”

“It’s kind of dramatic, isn’t it?”

I gave him the flattest, most incredulous stare that I could, then stooped down and picked up the rose, kissed it, and held it to my forehead with a loud sigh. “Whatever makes you think that?”

The pair of photographers went nuts.

Georgi laughed. “Okay, okay. Still, Coach said you were _working._ This just looks like fun.”

“It’s a _lot_ of work, I’ll have you know. Stop distracting me!”

Fifi snapped a finger. “Is there a problem?” she asked. Her Russian was limited; we spoke almost exclusively in French.

“No,” I answered. “My rinkmate just isn’t taking this seriously. Are we about done?”

“We just have a few more shots for today with the coat off.”

I handed the overcoat over, and went back to work, following orders with whatever poses they required. It was going well, and I was just getting back into the groove of things when Georgi shrieked.

“What are you doing?!” he screamed- in Russian, of course.

“Your skin is so smooth, like silk,” said Rafe- in French.

“What?! Get away from me!”

Fifi, the camera men, and I all stopped our work to watch the drama unfold as Rafe moved closer and closer to Georgi, who scooted further and further away from him at the wall. Georgi could walk away at any point, but was standing his ground while Rafe was taking advantage of that and invading his personal space, doing his signature move and speaking right against his neck, touching his arm.

It was funny, but not so funny at the same time.

“Rafe!” Fifi barked. “Leave that boy alone!”

Rafe smiled, taking a step back with his hands up in the defensive position, leaving Georgi looking like he was about to faint. “What? He’s just so handsome, I cannot resist!”

“Georgi, you okay?” I called to him. He’d probably _never_ had a boy hit on him before.

He didn’t answer, just sort of shook his head and nodded at the same time, pale and wobbly, eyeing Rafe with so much wide-eyed suspicion and fear that I couldn’t help feeling bad for the guy.

“...maybe I should check on him,” I said to Fifi, who sighed and nodded.

“That’s it for today, I guess. Rafe! You’re in for it now!”

 

Georgi did recover, but it took some coaxing and reassurance that Rafe wouldn’t be coming back to the rink and that, yes, he lived in Paris, not anywhere near Saint Petersburg and that he didn’t need to worry. Rafe was just like that, shh, shh. It was gonna be okay.

The rest of the photoshoot went smoothly, with one last day devoted to ballet, which was Fifi’s favorite subject to shoot. We started with Vaganova Academy in the morning, and I got to bring Makkachin along, which was fun because he got to have a tour of his school-season home ahead of time! The lighting was great as the sun was rising because of all of the stained glass in the hallways, and they got plenty of shots of me doing student-esque poses bathed in golden light.

Then, when all of the fun was used up there, we went to the Mariinsky theater, where Fifi transformed me into more of a _professional_ ballerina, setting me on the stage for various shots in whatever she wanted to dress me as. I’d only performed at the Mariinsky a handful of times, and it was always for student productions, never with an official, full-scale, professional company. It would never happen, but pretending was actually pretty fun.

By the time we finished, I was so bone-tired that I just wanted to take a hot shower and a nice, long nap with Makkachin and probably never move again. Fifi assured me that she would get the adjustments made to my costume in time and have it sent soon, though she would probably do one last fitting before settling on everything, and leave the left arm loose to make room for my brace.

She loved any excuse to come by the Mariinsky, and if the photos turned out like she thought they would, she was sure that a follow-up shoot was in order.

I was sad to see her go, and I missed the beautiful things that she took with her. My costume would at least come back to me in a few weeks for the skating season, but the rest belonged to her collection, not mine. Not that I could get away with that kind of stuff in daily life, anyway. Coach said I could be who I wanted on the ice; there was some lenience with costumes as long as it fit into the ISU's regulations. The streets of Saint Petersburg were even more restrictive. But I had my own ways of dealing with that. As much as I'd loved what Fifi had done with my eyes, it was no replacement for  _my_ stand by warpaint of kiko mascara, and that lipstick hadn't tasted anything like cherries like my ultra-discrete lipgloss. 

Practical and cute, like a soft turtleneck sweater and leggings, beat _haute couture_ any day. 


	16. Tea With the Empress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Lilia have tea while discussing life and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Aaaah! I'm finally back with a new bundle! And it's much larger than it should be, but I couldn't hold back. Sorry. It got so long, in fact, that I had to push the original ending into the next bundle, which was good for my poor heart (and those of you who read NLA know why). ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> As always, a billion thanks to Mamodewberry for being the patient, supportive, wonderful waifu that she is, helping me every step of the way through this process- and betaing, too! Squeeze also helped with beta (THANK YOU!) and I basically owe my life to [ladyegcake](https://twitter.com/ladyegcake) and [starkysnarks](http://starkysnarks.tumblr.com/) for all of their help with research stuff.
> 
> Finally, please go check out Misa's Instagram- <https://www.instagram.com/misamisatoto/>  
>  She's the one who does the bundle illustrations for me and I just love her work so much. <3 
> 
> **Bonus fan art:**  
>  ;_; aaahhhh I can't... believe people have drawn things for my story. Thank you so much. *weeps*  
>  SilanaMisha drew [Vitya and Makka bedtime cuddles](https://twitter.com/SilanaMisha/status/920398741865156608), [Vitya in Fifi's photoshoot](https://twitter.com/SilanaMisha/status/922172539706544128), [Vitya and Makka first meeting](https://twitter.com/SilanaMisha/status/921868065867956224), and [COOKIE TAX!!12](https://twitter.com/SilanaMisha/status/988119927512059909)!  
>  Andy(onice) drew [Georgi and Viktor at the rink](https://twitter.com/andyonice/status/928377876931543041) as well as [Vitya HIDING IN THE CHURCH ;A; aahh](https://twitter.com/andyonice/status/976311863452622848)  
>  Quel did a [very lovely montage of Viktor's Wishing Star program!!!](https://twitter.com/quelmdn/status/935890162793447425) and a [little Vitya and Albert the unicorn!](https://twitter.com/quelmdn/status/977365722010615809)  
>  Andy(kuzuki) [made me a MEDAL?! with Vitya and Albert the unicorn?!?!?! :D](https://twitter.com/andykuzuki/status/977304332411572224)  
>  Parker [aLSO DrEW ALBERT and Vitya and Makka!!!!!!](https://twitter.com/parker_matsu/status/977440885553025025)  
>  And I'm pretending that Baph [did this sad Vitya](https://twitter.com/boredBaph/status/992607541879361536) as fanart for the fic instead of just a gift for me~ ;)  
>  If I missed a piece, please let me know and I'll make sure to include it on the next update so I can gush properly. (ﾉ)´∀｀(ヾ)
> 
>  ~*~ [the Vitya Diaries moment on Twitter has lots of good stuff!](https://twitter.com/i/moments/897323135770402816) ~*~ 
> 
>  
> 
> **Vitya's Playlist:**  
>  [_Serenade No. 13 in G Major Eine kleine Nachtmusik KV 525: Rondo: Allegro_ \- Mozart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hAuZJmJ0xU&t=0s&index=17&list=PLbdh3hx058l4Fs6mvYIPD-EnCIkI2pob-)

* * *

 

I liked Lilia’s house. It’s so _her._ She belonged to it just as much as it belonged to her, with its tall, impassive columns, pristine walls, and marble floors. I think people tend to settle in places that feel right, and reach a singularity over time. Coach was the same way with his little old place full of secret memories, and my Aunt and Uncle with their boring house that I don’t even wanna mention. I almost can’t wait to get back to Vaganova in a few weeks. It may be a little too yellow and privacy doesn’t exist, but it’s as close to a home of my own as I’ve got.

I had Lilia to thank for that. She liked to have me visit for tea, which was code for routine checkups and lectures to make sure that I wasn’t blowing it.

“Midnight blue?” Lilia asked. Skepticism was normal for her.

I looked at the little bottle of nail polish in my hands. “I thought we could shake things up.”

“I don’t think it’s my color.”

There were dozens of options laid out on the counter, but she hadn’t specified any rules. That was just like her, though. Everything was always a test. I put it back and picked out an obnoxious hot pink. “This one?”

“God, no.”

Smiling, I went through three more before settling on a nice, safe bronze. I wouldn’t get to actually paint her nails until I did everything else that went into a proper pedicure; she wanted me to have my _mise en place._

Lilia did mine first, sitting me in the big salon chair. She’d already picked out the sapphire polish for my nails, which had only taken her one try.“You’ve been chewing on your nails again.”

“I got anxious.”

“Isn’t that what the dog is for?”

“His name is Makkachin.”

Makkachin was dozing against the wall, probably bored out of his mind.

“How is your wrist?”

“Almost better.” That was true enough, though I needed to stop falling on it if it was ever going to heal all the way. “I think I’ll be fine by the time the semester starts.”

“And your programs, Viktor?”

I puffed my cheeks. She hated the duck face, but that only made it more fun. “My free skate is good. Still dunno what I’m doing for my short program. Exhibition…”

“You need to win to skate an exhibition.”

“Oh, I’ll _win,_ Lilia.”

She frowned at me.

I frowned back.

Then she smiled. Trading the emery board for a towel, she stood to retrieve a bowl. “Perhaps you should consider doing something traditional. Show the world where you’re from. Tell them how you feel about Russia. Here, put your hands in.”

I let my fingers soak in the warm water and looked up at the ornate frame of the mirror behind her. How I felt about Russia? “The costume would be easy enough to put together if I did that, I guess…” And it’d be warm. The Hopak was the most traditional dance I knew, and it’d been taught to me at Vaganova since the dawn of time, but could it be translated to the ice?

...Actually, I could already see it. The kicks, the jumps and spins. It would be difficult. Probably dangerous, too. But the energy and the step sequences would definitely turn heads. The audience would love it. There’d be extra points in it for the arm positions, and since it’d be a short program, I could probably get away with doing some crazy stuff and still have enough recovery time for the free skate.

It wasn’t a bad idea.

Lilia sniffed, which was how she laughed through her nose. “It might help temper things from your photo shoot, too.”

I looked up from the mirror. “Oh.”

That was another reason why I’d come to visit Lilia. The interview from Fifi’s visit had been published and some of the photos from the shoot were in it. She’d gotten a copy and invited me over. It’d been a great article, and versions of it would be going out to other skating publications around the world. How they managed to get so much done in just a few weeks I had no idea. Thank you, marketing people!

Lilia set my hands on the towel again, using her tools to push back the cuticles, refining everything in the practiced way she did. “You need to be a little more careful, Vitya… Viktor.”

I smiled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re getting older.”

“So?”

“So they will be expecting you to fulfil certain roles.”

“I’m not going to do ballet. I’m a skater.”

“That’s not what I meant. However, to that end, you must meet their expectations to stay at Vagova as well.”

I broke contact from Lilia’s reproachful glare. “You’re the one who put nail polish on me.”

She sighed. “In this world, you are only the master of yourself. You cannot change Russia, but it likewise cannot change you- if you do not let it.”

I squinted at her. “So you want me to lie.”

“I’m simply suggesting that take control of your life, Viktor. But be smart about it.”

“Uh huh. So it’d be bad if I told everyone that I had the hots for this incredibly cute guy in Moscow, right?”

Her careful hands came to a stop with the polish over my thumb for seven careful, measured seconds before she continued. “Is that so?” she asked. So calm. As if she weren’t dying to know. But her eyebrows, curved like the Hulme Arch Bridge, gave her away.

I leaned back in the chair. “Mmm-hmm.”

“And who is this boy?”

“Coach hasn’t told you?”

She recapped the bottle and set it aside, turning to the makeup kit I’d brought. Some things we could share, but not mascara. While my nails dried, she started on my face. “No, he has not.” She paused. “He doesn’t tell me everything, you know. Why would he?”

I closed my eyes to let her work, which was a shame, because she always made the best faces when we talked about Coach. “Because everyone knows that lovers tell each other everything.”

“That is not…” She sighed. “I can’t stand him and you know it.”

“Uh huh, _sure._ So why does he keep his wedding ring in his wallet?” I cracked an eye open just long enough to catch her blush.

“That man…”

“And you keep the photo of you two dancing at your wedding on your side table.”

She cleared her throat. “Why do you tell him these things instead of me? You can open your eyes now.”

I looked in the mirror. She’d given me winged eyeliner curled my eyelashes, which I loved. The eyeshadow matched my nails. She loved putting me in blue. I smiled up at her. “Probably because I see him two or three times a week?”

“You _could_ see me more often. I was your teacher first, you know.”

“True…” I held still for her to apply a soft pink shade of lipstick, watching her face as she did. Lilia had been my ballet teacher from the time I was four until I started at Vaganova at age ten. She’d been the one to introduce me to Coach Feltsman, and taught me how to do all the makeup I knew. I rubbed my lips together. “Do you _want_ me to come over more?”

She sniffed and took out various powders from her collection. “I just don’t understand. You’ve always been so eager to go to Yakov’s, but never mine.”

That wasn’t true. Was it? “I like having tea with you.”

”Do you ever think of me as being…” Her voice trailed as she brushed blush onto my cheeks, first one, then the other, eyes narrowing in thought. “Well, have you ever thought of me as being…”

I cocked my head to one side, and she took my chin to the angle she wanted. “Being?”

“You don’t seem to have taken to your aunt and uncle as surrogate parents.” She bapped my nose with a powder pouf. “No, don’t make that face, I’m not finished yet.”

Had I sneered? Maybe. “I love them, but they’re not my parents.”

She dabbed the rest of my face, saying nothing.

“Wait. Are you saying you want to be... Mama Lilia?”

Lilia made the lemon face.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Lilia, you’re not a mama.”

“What?” Her brows creased.

“No, really,” I said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather live with you than my aunt, but…”

“But what?”

I watched as she slowly began to pack up my makeup stuff away, not looking at me while I tried to come up with a way to explain it. Lilia, Prima Ballerina, the one who ruled Coach with an iron fist, who could kill anyone with just one glance, wanted to know why she wasn’t Mama? No one was Mama but Mama. No one but Mama would _ever_ be Mama.

That wasn’t something so easily said, though. And it wasn’t like I wanted to hurt Lilia. I _loved_ Lilia. It was just… different.

“Well, y’know. You’re more of a queen than a mama.”

“What? Queens can be mothers, too. Especially to princesses.”

I winced. “Sure, but… it’s the authority. The _presence._ If it’s a title you’re after, I can call you Empress Lilia if you want.”

Even though she was frowning, Lilia had color on her cheeks, too- and it wasn’t just the rouge. She was flustered, and that was hard to do. Whether that was a good thing or not, though, I really couldn’t tell.

Coach probably would have been shaking in his valenki.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Lilia muttered.

“Goddess Lilia, then?”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Baroness Lilia? Duchess Lilia?”

“I think you’re going in the wrong direction, now…”

I shrugged. “I think Empress is my favorite.”

“You’re impossible. Up, out of the chair. It’s my turn.”

I did Lilia’s nails under her direction, which always made me really nervous. But I didn’t mess up, which was great. She dropped the subject of mamas and asked about Niko instead. So I told her. A little bit. Not too much. Just that he was cute, which I’d already mentioned, and that we talked a lot over text.

“How can you get a feeling for chemistry if you don’t see him in person?” She asked.

“Pfft. Lilia. We’ve met before. Besides, this way, he’ll fall for _me_ , my true self, my _soul,_ not for what I look like. None of the… you know?”

She wasn’t convinced, but didn’t argue.

Once she had a top coat of clear polish, which I didn’t get ‘cause I’d be removing mine before going home, we had tea in her sitting room and talked about ballet some more. Even though I didn’t want to admit it, I knew a lot more about the ins and outs of gossip at the Mariinsky and its current performers- courtesy of my teachers -than I probably should have. Which Lilia _loved._

I was her spy on the inside.

We also looked over the photo proofs I’d brought, spreading them out on her lovely coffee table. Lilia was quiet for a while, sorting through them with one hand, long nails barely tracing the edges of the prints, while she held her teacup steady with her other. I hardly breathed while waiting for her feedback.

“Miss Fifi does good work,” Lilia finally said, settling back on the sofa. “Will you be keeping all of these for your portfolio?”

I looked back at them, humming. “My aunt is already asking for copies, and I think Coach requested to get some on file. Why, did you want some?”

“Perhaps.”

I’d already scanned and emailed the ones I was sending to Niko, and since Coach was getting copies… “Take whatever you’d like, Lilia.”

She arched her brow at me again. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Anything for the Empress.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on the corner of her lips, small though it was, and I could tell she was pleased.

 

Makkachin and I went home an hour later, two photos lighter (she took one from the Vaganova set and one from the stage at the Mariinsky), free of makeup and nail polish.

“Did you have fun with Madame Baranovskaya?”

“Yeah.” I yawned and brought Makkachin to the kitchen to feed him, measuring out the kibble and then refilling his water bowl while he ate. “I’m gonna go take a nap, though.”

My aunt smiled. “Was it that tiring?”

“She made me do yoga.”

“You love yoga.”

“She also checked all of my forms to make sure I was practicing.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

I leaned on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. “I guess.”

“It’s good to see you going outside, too.”

“...yeah.” That was my signal to go. “Okay bye!”

Makkachin barked after me, which he always did when I’d run up the stairs, and I made it to my door when I heard his scrambling paws thumping up the stairs and barreling down the hallway. He hated being left behind.

“Ohhh you got me, Makka!”

“Vitya, don’t make him run right after eating!”

“Sorry!” I crouched to rub his ears and his neck, then his full belly and opened the door to my room, leading him over to the bed. I flopped down, sleepy pup on my stomach, and pulled out my phone.

I wasn’t really that tired, but checking my phone at Lilia’s would have gotten me in trouble. Not because of the content- she obviously didn’t care that I had it bad for the Boy from Moscow -but because it was really rude to check your phone while having tea with people. Which sucked, because I really wanted to know if Niko had seen the photos.

I punched in my password and waited for it to load. Nothing in my email, but I had a text.

 

n.y: got your email

 

That was it?

What was that supposed to mean? He’d sent it some time in the early afternoon- probably while I was standing _arabesque_ in Lilia’s studio. Not sure what I was expecting. A marriage proposal on the spot? I’d sent the most flattering photos, but really, who was I kidding?

 

Me: What did you think?

Me: not bad, right?

 

Give him an easy out. Set up a win-win for us both. _Please, please don’t let me down._

 

n.y: yeah

n.y: hey can i call you?

 

I almost dropped my phone right onto my stupid face. He wanted to _call?_ Niko? _Call me?_ I swallowed and, trembling, typed out my answer of ‘sure :) now?’  before slipping out of bed to close my door.

His answer came in the form of cheerful chirping crickets; a built-in ringtone that I’d set when I got the phone. Niko had never called me before, so I’d never heard it all the way through. The song was sort of bluesy and really cute, and I let it ring a couple more times before taking the call.

“This is Nikodim… Mishka?”

“Yes. It’s me. I’m listening.” Thank god I didn’t squeak. “Niko, hi.”

“I liked your photos.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and Makkachin came crawling to nudge at my arm. I was trembling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. It was a lot of work, but I think they turned out pretty well.”

“Me, too.”

I played with my hair in the silence that followed. I wasn’t that good at one-on-one conversations without a set topic to begin with, but with everything on top of it… “So is that why you wanted to call?”

“Oh.” His voice was deeper than I remembered, but still that same timbre. “I’m going to be in Saint Petersburg next month. Mom has some business in town. I- we wanted to know if you… were available to see us?”

Makkachin nudged my arm, and his cold, wet nose jump started my brain so I could think again. “Uh.”

“Mishka?”

“Oh- uh, right! Yeah, of course! I’d love to. That’d be great, Niko. Sure. Just let me know what the schedule is?”

“I will let you know.”

“Okay!”

We both fell silent again, and though I wanted to ask more about the photos, I didn’t want to ruin how good the conversation had been. Niko was coming to visit. He wanted to see me. Next month. Not at a skating event, but here, in Saint Petersburg.

“...how long will you be in town?” I asked.

“A few days, I think.”

“Oh, okay.”

“We’ll probably take you to dinner.”

Dinner. With Niko. “Perfect.”

“...Sure.”

Almost like a date.

Wait.

 _It was like a date_.

I’d never been on a date before. What was I supposed to do? By next month, what did Niko mean? That was anywhere from two to six weeks, and Niko wasn’t very good at precision despite being kind of picky about stuff, so that didn’t leave me a lot of time to prepare.

“Niko? I gotta go.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. My aunt’s calling me.”

“O-oh. Yeah. I’ll text you.”

“Great. Perfect. You’re the best.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Bye!”

I hung up.

I hung up and stared at my phone and panicked while Makkachin licked my face and nuzzled me and tried to calm me down, but I wasn’t upset, exactly, just- _exploding_. What was I going to do?

I needed advice. Tips. Someone I could talk to.

Not Lilia. As much as she wanted the gossip, she would just tell me I was being silly and that I needed to make real friends. Coach would just be awkward about it.

I thought of of my roommate at the academy. Feliks knew about romance but he was… so aggressively straight that I didn’t dare throw him a bone lest he take it and run to the moon with it.  Probably not a good idea.

Then it hit me.

There was someone I knew who would know exactly what to do.

Someone who had charisma and experience with dating and all the woes of the troubled teenage heart.

I was loathe to do it. Really, I was. But I was also desperate.

I scrolled through my contacts to the one marked SecondPlace and typed out a message.

 

Me: Georgi

Me: hey Georgi I need your help


	17. Curious Georgi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor reluctantly asks his rival for dating advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vitya's Playlist:**   
>  [_Otterpop (feat Hollis.)_ \- Shawn Wasabi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cj2eUpt3MVE&list=PLbdh3hx058l4Fs6mvYIPD-EnCIkI2pob-&index=16)

Georgi already knew that there was _someone_ in my life. He’d caught me texting Niko on multiple occasions, but I’d always been quick to hide my phone and keep it to myself. But he knew I had a crush.

He didn’t know who they were, where they lived, or that they were a boy.

And I wasn’t about to tell him. I had to be careful.

I didn’t even tell him what was going on until we were at his house the next day. Just ‘relationship advice - top secret’ and he took it to heart.

We met for practice at the rink, and I went home with him. His parents were thrilled to have me and Makkachin over for the night. My aunt and uncle were glad to have me out of the house.

“But don’t forget that we need to return the favor, Vitya!”

“I know, I know.”

Georgi waited patiently all the way through dinner, only casting curious glances my way, and when it was finally time, ushered us upstairs to ‘show me stuff’ on his computer. Yeah, he had his own computer in his room. Lucky.

I sat on his bed, hugging my knees to my chest, while he perched with the chair in reverse, gripping the headrest. One of his dogs, a Tchiorny Terrier by the name of Drakkar was playing tug-of-war with Makkachin on the floor. Makka liked playing, and I’d taken his vest off so he was off-duty for the rest of the night.

“Can you tell me now?” Georgi asked. “Don’t worry, no one will come up here; they’re going to be watching their shows for a couple of hours at least.”

I turned away from the open door. “So you know how I’ve been texting someone…”

“Your crush!”

“Yeah.”  
“Yes? And?” He scooted closer, the wheels of his office chair squeaking on the plastic floor mat.

“Well… They’re coming to visit next month from Moscow-”

“Ooh, a long distance relationship!”

“-and they want to go to dinner.”

“Your first date.” Georgi wiped a fake tear from his eye, smiling. “I’m so proud of you, Viktor!”

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to supress the hot anger that his pity broiled up in me. “What do I do?”

“Oh, I have so much good advice for you, don’t worry. What do you have planned? Your first date is really important, so you need to make a good impression.”

“Uh…”

“That’s okay, I can help you with that, too.”

“Well, it’s… more like they’re coming with their mom and I’m meeting up with them.”

He blinked twice before his expression completely deflated. “So it’s not really a date, is it?”

“It’s not _not_ a date. They’ll be here for a few days. Maybe I could-”

“You need to ask her. Do it right away before she gets other plans!”

I pulled my legs closer. “I don’t know if that’d work. I don’t want to scare… her away. How do I even know if she likes me?”

“You have to be bold, Viktor!”

“But I don’t want to mess this up, Georgi! I talk to th- her every day, I can’t afford to lose that!”

Makkachin dropped the toy, letting Drakkar have it, and trotted over to the bed, tail wagging. The other dog cocked his head to one side as if he couldn’t believe that someone would just abandon a win out of concern for someone.

Georgi frowned, sitting up straight. “You don’t make mistakes if you don’t do anything. If you want this girl, Viktor, you’ll have to do _something.”_

He was right about that. So far my tactics hadn’t worked. “I sent photos.”

“Oh, from your photoshoot?”

“Yeah.”

“Showing off your _ass_ ets?” He lifted a suggestive brow. Just like Feliks did.

I groaned, just like I always did when he would. “...yeah. I guess you could say that.”

“And?”

“That’s when they told me they were coming.”

Georgi asked me to start at the beginning, from the very first time that we met, and catch him up to the present, which I summed up as carefully as I could without giving anything too incriminating away while reciting texts that I could remember. I almost slipped too many times, but Georgi was so wrapped up in the drama that he didn’t seem to notice. So Niko became the ‘mysterious girl of my dreams’ that I was supposed to win over, and Georgi was going to help me do it. He said that if I didn’t have my first date, first kiss, and first boyfriend status by the end the visit, he wasn’t Georgi Popovich, Jr. World Champion.

Which, hey, way to rub it in. But I took some comfort in his confidence.

I’d been right about him. Where Feliks was too straight to be of help with Niko, Georgi was bordering on gay despite being a ladies’ man.

“We have a few weeks to work with, so we’re going to  get you totally prepared. To start, you can get her warmed up by flirting more and more through text so she is thinking about you romantically by the time she gets here. Then you can start putting on the moves…”

“The moves?”

“By the texts, it sounds like she’s the mean, teasing type, so you need to counter it by feigning disinterest. Y’know, pretend you don’t care. Act cool and confident. Don’t show any emotion, no matter how much the comments hurt.”

That didn’t sound right. Niko wasn’t mean _or_ teasing. “How is that going to help?”

“Reverse psychology. Trust me, it works.”

I didn’t, but nothing I’d tried so far _except_ for photos and being unavailable had worked. So maybe Georgi knew what he was talking about. “Right.”

“Look, Viktor, if you want me to mold you into a lady-killing machine, you have to have faith in me and follow all of my guidelines.”

I groaned. I was older than him, I really was, even just by one day- did I really have to put up with this?

My phone vibrated on the bed between us with a new message, and I could already see that it was from n.y, which had my insides squirming like a mouse squeezing out of grasping hands.

Yes, I would put up with it.

I really, really needed his help.

Georgi nodded at the phone. “What did she say?”

I checked the message, cupping a hand around it. It felt wrong to call Niko a girl, but it’d be worse if he knew I was talking about crushing on him in such a gay way to a straight boy. “She wants to know what I’m up to right now.”

“Don’t text back right away, Viktor. Be strong! Don’t you know anything about romance?!”

“Apparently not.” I set the phone in my lap.

“Okay, you need a primer.”

The primer ended up being watching movies in his den once his parents were done, which might have been terrible except that there was popcorn and dogs all over. But watching Georgi swoon over the the ladies and all the sappy parts was hilarious and I loved dogs. Plus homemade popcorn was really great.

We started with _Kidnapping, Caucasian Style_ , which was a staple even though bride napping wasn’t applicable at all, then moved onto the classic _Office Romance._ Halfway through, though, I started to fall asleep. It didn’t matter that it was still light outside, unless I was running around, my body wanted to stick to its schedule.

We went back to his room and got ready for bed. I got comfy in my sleeping bag on his floor, Makkachin, Drakkar, and Luchik around me. Dogpile. The best. I could have lived on Georgi’s floor and been happy. The curtains on his window blocked out most of the White Night, leaving just enough light to see the outline of hand on the edge of his bed.

I closed my eyes, listening to the all the sounds of breathing from the dogs and from my rinkmate, and sighed. It was nice. I hated being alone; this was so much better. The warmth of furry bodies pressed close, snuffly noses and huffs, a roommate over yonder, tired from running around.

“Hey, Viktor?”

“Mmh?”

“I’m really glad that you don’t actually hate me.”

The sleep that had almost taken its hold jostled free, and I blinked up at him, awake again. “Huh?”

“You know,” he continued. “When we moved here, I was kind of nervous. Leaving all of my friends, my parents transferring offices, us changing schools. It was scary, but I was excited, too. Saint Petersburg is so much different than Siberia, and Coach Feltsman _recruited me._ That’s a lot of pressure, but means I get to have you and Sasha- _the Sasha Markov_ -as my rinkmates! How cool is that?”

My fingers curled into Makkachin’s fur. I didn’t know how to respond. I hadn’t thought of it that way. “I guess,” I said, quiet and unhelpful.

“Then I got here and we had that rough patch… I feared the worst! But here we are, having a sleepover.”

Makkachin licked my neck and my chin, doing his job even though I could tell he was tired. I rubbed behind his ears, and hoped my sleepy hum would count as an enough of a response.

It must have, because Georgi yawned and rolled over a moment later. “Anyway, I’m really glad that you asked me for help, Viktor.”

It bothered me that he could bare his feelings so easily without resentment. Especially with the kind of stuff he was saying. Was he really sincere or was this an act to guilt me now that I was vulnerable and in need? Maybe I’d been too hard on him, though. He’d been so willing to help me, hadn’t pushed about Niko’s identity, and had convinced his parents to let Makkachin come without any questions my way. That meant a lot.

I listened as his breathing began to even out, apparently given up on waiting for me to reply. “Hey, Georgi?”

He rolled back toward me and peeked over the edge of the bed, rubbing at his nose with a sleepy smile. “Yeah?”

“Did you really see a tiger out in the wild?”

He blinked hard, then his mouth twisted to a frown. “Why would I lie about that?!”

“I’ll believe you, I just wanna know if you were making it up.”

“Yes. I really saw a tiger, Viktor.” He sniffed, and rolled onto his back.

The silence settled again.

“That’s so cool,” I said, and I meant it.

“...yeah?”

“I love tigers.”

“They’re magnificent creatures.” He moved back onto his elbow to look down at me again, and I grinned up at him.

“I go to the zoo every chance I get,” I said. “They have a couple of tigers. They’re so pretty. I dream about breaking into their cage and setting them free.”

“I haven’t been to the zoo here yet.”

“The Leningrad? That’s dumb. What’s wrong with you?” I laughed to show that I was teasing.

“I haven’t had anyone to go with.. though, that gives me an idea.” He snapped his finger. “You’ve never been on a date before, right?”

“We’ve been over this.”

“So let’s go to some practice locations and you can get some experience in dating before the big event!”

“Woah, woah, wait- are you talking about going on _fake dates_ … with _you?”_

He laughed so hard he had to hit his pillow. “Viktor, I’m not your French friend. It’s just for practice. We could go to the zoo and to restaurants, movies and shopping, show you proper etiquette for dates!”

I probably could have set on fire from how embarrassed I was about the whole thing at that very moment. Fake dates with a straight guy who was also my rinkmate and rival? “I dunno…”

“Besides, it’s not like you never get out of Vaganova, right? And you don’t want to be a bad tour guide for your lady friend.”

Groaning, I buried my face in Makkachin’s fur. “Fine! But Makkachin’s coming as my plus-one, not you!”

“Whatever makes your crow fly, Viktor.”

“Ugh, goodnight!”

“Goodnight~”

 

Georgi was a nice guy. Really, he was kind of a prince. Not _my_ prince, but definitely a prince for someone, I could tell.

 

n.y: so you’re having sleepovers at your enemy’s now?

Me: well you know what they say about that right

n.y: that you have the hots for him? I knew it

Me: no, you have to know your enemy like you know yourself. Haven’t you ever read Sun Tzu?

n.y: when would I have read the art of war?

Me: literally all of your epic fantasy books have war, I thought it’d be a topic of interest

n.y: I guess but I’m not going to start a war myself

Me: it applies to real life, too

n.y: how so

Me: yknow

 

_Because love is a battlefield, Niko. And I’m going to conquer your heart._

 

Me: with stuff

n.y: sure mishka

 

Niko explained that Tetya Olya’s conference was from Thursday to Sunday, and they would be going home early Monday morning. They wanted me to join them for dinner on Friday, and that there might be time for Niko to see me again that weekend.

 

n.y: it depends on the schedule

n.y: i’m not really attending the conference but i get to eat for free because i’m helping my mom

n.y: and the hotel suite is supposed to be really nice

Me: that sounds cool

 

_Don’t think about going to his room and making out with him…_

 

n.y: yeah it should be nice for catching up on my reading

n.y: no one to bother me

Me: haha right :)

 

It would be tough competition. Me against Niko’s alone time with his books. I had to make a good impression. I could probably get Niko to agree to hang out with me for one day, at least for a few hours, if I came up with something really, really interesting, but it would have to count.

 

“That’s okay,” Georgi said. “We’ll just go through all of the options in Saint Petersburg, and I’ll help you narrow it down.”

“That’s a lot of fake dates.” I looked up from the popsicle his mom had insisted I take. We were sitting in his backyard so the dogs could chase each other around, and the sun was high and warm and so nice. “Saint Petersburg is huge.”

“If you want something enough, you have to work for it, Viktor.”

I sniffed, and looked back at the melting blue as it dripped down toward my arm. “So you know when I’m in the senior division that I’m gonna beat you, right?”

He laughed. “If you used some of this competitive spirit for your romantic ventures, I think you _just_ might have a chance.”

 

Georgi and I set up a list and a schedule. Since Coach had started doing his skating summer camps, I only had practice twice a week at the rink, but if I took up the workshops at the Academy like I’d promised, I’d have an excuse to be downtown the three other mornings of the week. So Georgi could meet up with me after I was done and we could run around all afternoon. With Makkachin’s training sessions on top of that, I could conveniently go to Georgi’s house on Friday nights when his parents allowed friends without even having to go back for mine or Makkachin’s stuff.

It made my aunt really, really happy to have me out of the house more often.

“We’re so glad that you have a friend, Vitya. But don’t forget, you promised to invite Gosha over one of these times, too!”

“Uh huh,” I said. “I will!”

Yeah right.

 

We started our adventures with the zoo since it was close to the rink. Makkachin loved it more than either of us, which was so cute. There were so many people for him to meet, and lots of sights and sounds and smells! I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of taking him before. He behaved really well on his leash, too. Makkachin was the best dog, even though he was still young and made the occasional mistake- like licking people’s hands when they pet him. But he couldn’t help it; he just loved everyone.

I showed Georgi all of the animals, rattling off the facts that I knew (which were many; I’d been coming to the zoo my whole life), and Georgi chimed in with his advice and critiques and the stuff that _he_ knew about romance. And animals. And everything else, because I guess he was an expert on the whole universe.

“We had those in Siberia, too. At Novosibirsk”

I’d heard of the Novosibirsk Zoo before, and not just fifty times in the past hour from Georgi. I’d never been there, but it was supposed to be world-renowned. Leningrad Zoo wasn’t that fancy, but it was _my_ zoo. I scowled at him. “Pay attention, or I won’t show you the tigers!”

“Sorry!”

That was a lie. I would have shown him the tigers, anyway.

They were sleeping in the shade when we got there, with bars of sunlight on their inky stripes. I swooned, and Georgi did, too.

“Oh, they’re beautiful!” He cried, clutching his chest.

I swear, he was so dramatic. So gay. “I know!”

He nodded his agreement, then stepped back to look the enclosure over. “Do you think-?”

“Nope. They’re stuck.”

“Tragic…”

It was. But Georgi feeling the same way made me like him more. And it proved that it didn’t matter who you were; tigers were awesome.

We stayed until closing, wandering between exhibits and getting photos with our cell phones. I took notes on occasion with dictation from Georgi’s assessment on certain spots’ romantic qualities, but mostly just enjoyed being outside.

The statue at the entrance was our last stop, with me leaned against it, notebook in hand, Makkachin at my feet. Georgi stood back and nodded thoughtfully.

“What do you think?” I asked, looking up at the giant stone lion behind me. “Is this a good spot?”

“You could use some good pickup lines… say you’ll be the king in her life.”

I groaned. That was the _last_ thing I wanted. “That sounds too much like Sasha.”

“I thought I was the expert here.” He folded his arms. “Isn’t that right?”

I flushed. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry.”

Still, I didn’t think Niko would appreciate a line like that.

“I’ll forgive you this time… now let’s go find something to eat. What cafes are near by?”

That was another problem. I had some money saved up, sure, but it wasn’t much, and if I used it all palling around with Georgi, I might not have anything left for Niko. In my sweetest fantasies, _Niko_ would be taking me on the date, but I didn’t know how it was going to work if he didn’t do the asking, and I wasn’t exactly the classic definition of a Russian girl, either. Like, at all. Cause I was a… both.

How did dating etiquette work in that case? Who was supposed to ask? Who was supposed to pay? I may have been a princess,  but this was getting really, really complicated really, really quickly.

It was probably one of those bridges I’d just have to cross when I got to it.

 

I spent my time split between Georgi’s and my relatives’, running back and forth across Saint Petersburg with Makkachin day in, day out. I worked on different dance styles, refining ballet techniques and building strength, and convincing one of my teachers to work with me on the Hopak as my summer project- which tied directly into my Short Program practice. I was going to have to nail all of the elements of the Cossack style if I had any hope of translating it to the ice without getting myself killed.

Coach was surprised at my choice, especially since I hadn’t picked a song to go with it yet, but he had some ideas for how to help me modify the steps for safety. That was something that he was always really good at, even if he wasn’t really good at talking Feelings.

Ever since I got Makkachin, we hadn’t really talked much at all outside of practice. But that was probably because he was busy. And I was busy, too. Really busy.

 

“The appetite will come when you eat,” Georgi’s mom said, putting more food in front of me. “Go on, Vitya.”

My plate had too much food on it. Way too much. But Georgi’s family really wanted to fatten me up for some reason. Maybe to make me less competitive? Or out of pity? Or just being a good host?

Probably that one. And they were great hosts.

“Thank you, Tetya Polya.”

“Of course. Any time.”

She was so nice. She was a really good cook, too, and not a herring in sight.

Georgi grinned at me from across the table.

 

I took Georgi on a walking tour of the canals, working out all of the sore muscles from practice that morning. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea since my legs were already killing me, but Makkachin was so excited about being out in the sunshine that it made it all worth it.

“Do you ever get tired?” Georgi asked, watching me instead of the water.

“Huh?”

“Dancing every day, all day.”

“I dunno. I guess.”

We’d been walking for a really long time by that point, but winding around the Summer Gardens was the best part. Plus the canals were free, which was in my budget. And walking meant talking. That was good for me and Niko. A good date.

“Do you ever think about being a ballet dancer instead of a skater?”

“Not really. Maybe in moments where I have a lapse in sanity.” I looked back at him, then gave Makkachin a little more lead so he’d pull me forward, putting distance between us. I hopped up to the edge of the bridge and peered over the edge, looking, looking…

“Why is that? I mean, you do _so_ much dancing…”

“‘Cause it’s just not _me._ But look, Georgi.” I pointed straight down at the little ledge beneath us, waiting for him to join me. “It’s Chizhik-Pyzhik!”

He looked down at the tiny stone bird statue and then back at me with a puzzled grin. “What the?”

“They say he got drunk and fell down there,” I explained. “So don’t do that.”

Georgi turned back to the siskin. “I wonder if he was heartbroken.”

“Maybe.” I fished a coin out of my backpack. “But they say if you can get some money on his ledge, it’ll bring you good luck.”

“Luck in love?”

“I dunno. Couldn’t hurt. The more you give, the better the luck you’re supposed to have.”

“We should visit an ATM…”

 

It took a few tries, but we both got some money safely at Chizhik-Pyzhik’s feet, then it was off to take the long walk around the other side, back toward the next major rail station. Then he went East and I went South.

 

SecondPlace: make sure to tell me if she texts you!

Me: i will!

 

The Hermitage Museum had free entry for students, so that was also on the big list of possible spots to take Niko. Plus the square was just amazing and a perfect opportunity for photos. We went after skating practice, and god I was tired.

“Are you up to this?” Georgi asked.

“Yeah.”

“Your Short Program looks intense.”

I shrugged. He wasn’t wrong. “It’s going to be something the world’s never seen.”  
“Okay, well, we can just take it easy.”

“Geez, Georgi. Who do you think I am?”

No one ever built muscle, won finals, or conquered empires without a little exhaustion. I forced a little more spring in my step. It seemed to work, because Georgi changed his focus from me to the hedges that lined the building.  

“Woah, just look at all these cats! Makkachin, what do you think?”

Makkachin, sitting obediently at my feet from where we waited in the queue to get in, had noticed the cats in the hedge but was simply sniffing toward them, tail giving a tiny little wiggle like a nervous hand wave. He wanted to be their friend.

We went through the museum, but I’d already been through it a hundred times. Makkachin hadn’t, of course, but there weren’t even any cats in the actual galleries, so he just stayed at my side and looked kind of put out by how many people stared at _me_ for bringing a dog in.

What was Niko going to think about Makkachin? He already knew about the vest, but if he knew the extent of it… The idea of not having Makka with me during a potential date, though, was ten times worse. I needed him.

And he did good. He did _so_ good, especially for being as young as he was.

 

By the time I got home, I was totally beat.

I showered again, had dinner with my aunt and uncle, and went to bed. I heard them talking with my door ajar- which I liked to do in case Makkachin needed to wander -discussing how relieved they were that I was staying busy.

“He’s finally got a friend,” my aunt whispered.

“And a good one, too. I think that Gosha is a good influence.”

“Perhaps some of his charm will rub off on our Vitya…”

“I hope so. That poor boy.”

 

n.y: they love your rival?

Me: yeah I think they want me to be more like him

n.y: i hate that

n.y: i hear that all the time about me and my brothers

n.y: they always want me to be like them, no matter what

n.y: they can do no wrong

Me: heh yeah right

ny: look i don’t make the rules

n.y: and it looks like you can’t even escape it despite being an only child

n.y: parents are the worst

Me: they aren’t my parents niko

n.y: unbelievable


	18. What Love Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgi takes Viktor to the movies to teach him how to be boyfriend material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vitya's Playlist**   
>  [_Oh My Soul_ \- Meiko](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T4lZcvV9hUM&index=17&list=PLbdh3hx058l4Fs6mvYIPD-EnCIkI2pob-)

When we weren't wandering around the city, visiting pet shops and book stores, museums or going swimming, we hung around at his house. His mama liked to keep tabs on him more often than not. And how we were 'getting along.'  She joked about adopting me. She joked about us being twins. She joked about us being the stars of Russia and how lucky we were to be best friends, and that it would look so good in the interviews, standing on the podium together; Georgi with gold, me with silver.

“Because of your silver hair,” she added quickly.

She joked about a lot of things.

Georgi’s papa did, too.

They liked to have me watch television with them after dinner, like my aunt and uncle did. And like my aunt and uncle, they made commentary on everything they saw. That person was too fat. That person was too thin. So-and-so was too effeminate and “what is going with the world these days?”

Tradition. Why couldn’t anyone value tradition?

Skating was a man’s sport, they said over dinner discussions, and then apologized to me.

They were just joking, they said.

Did they even know what they were saying?

I longed for the academy, even though it was only a little better. At least there it was a _fact_ that male dancers were manly. No one had to prove it except in exams, and even then… even then, it was just…

 

I tried pole dancing at the academy as part of a one-day workshop, just to see if I could do it. I fell right off the pole. I was the only boy who didn’t sign up as a joke and I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t _strong enough._ I needed to eat more. I know I needed to. I had to bulk up, but I didn’t want to. Things were changing and I hated it.

 

I was tired.

 

But at least my legs didn’t fail me as my short program came together on the ice. Even though Coach and I didn’t talk about anything but skating, we still worked really well as a team. He even took the song that I proposed- _MOSKAU_ by Dschinghis Khan -and found me a length-appropriate remix to use. I thought for sure he’d complain.

“It’ll go over well with the international audience,” he said. “Avram has been complaining about that in meetings lately.”

Abram Voronin was the representative for the RSU. I’d met him a handful of times, and he was always polite, but also very _business._ When a skater broke the rules, he was the one they had to answer to. He brokered our flights and hotel stays, lobbied for positions in international competitions, kept funding moving in and out of skating for Russia, and ensured that figure skating was seen as a notable sport worth protecting to the ones above him.

He was the one to please, someone who's good side I wanted to stay on.

I smiled. “Yeah. Well. Who can say no to a cute little Viktor Nikiforov doing traditional dance on the ice, da? In traditional costume? To… less than traditional music by a German pop group...”

Coach patted my shoulder with a smile, warm like fresh cookies. “Da. No one will be able to resist.”

Viktor Nikiforov, princess of Saint Petersburg, would lure them in with innocence and enthusiasm for Russia, then bring them to their knees with the seductress _Mednoj gory hozjajka_ from our native folklore. Kill them with sweetness and the crushing boulders of the mountains that I had sworn to protect.

And then my exhibition…

 

n.y: i don’t know

n.y: what do you like?

Me: Makkachin?

n.y: how do you skate to a poodle?

n.y: you can’t wear a poodle skirt

Me: I might be able to get away with it for an exhibition

Me: but i don’t Iike wearing skirts…

Me: a 50’s rock number could be really cute though

Me: pretend I’m roller skating

n.y: you and cute

n.y: i guess

Me: thanks Niko :)

n.y: sure??

 

I went to my aunt to ask if she would help me with the costume, and together we raided my cousins’ closets for clothes that might fit. Going through their stuff was one of the best things about being home for summer break; Auntie didn’t throw clothes out if they were in good condition, so there were years and years of second-hand treasures for me to paw through at any given moment.

“You’re getting too big for your wardrobe anyway,” she told me as I dragged out the boxes, searching for anything appropriately marked. Only one of my three cousins was male, but I didn’t have a problem with that. Maybe it made my ensembles a little hodgepodge and old fashioned, but I didn’t mind that much, either.

“We could take you shopping, I guess.”

“Let’s see what’s here first.” I tore open one of the boxes belonging to Rodya, and began to pull out shirts and trousers, setting them aside. Nothing really nice, but functional.

My aunt unfolded a flannel shirt and held it up. “You’ll drown in this.”

“Next year, then.” I pushed the box aside and ducked back into the closet. “Can you make me poodle patch?”

“A poodle patch?”

“Yeah, one that looks like Makkachin?”

“I suppose I could… Vitya, if you’re going for a Sock Hop, you should really be wearing a leather jacket.”

Klava’s assortment of knitted pant suits held some promise, so I threw them out to the pile, then tucked into the blouses. “I don’t want a leather jacket, though.”

“Are you going to be wearing pink?”

“Not for the program, I don’t think…” I poked my head back out to look at her. “Why?”

She looked away, tapping her long nails on the growing stack of fabric for me to try on. “Oh, nothing. I was just curious.”

I tried on a bunch of clothes and while I only found a few things that fit. I was too short for Klava’s and too thin for both Rodya’s and Lyuba’s, but there was just enough overlap that I was able to make a few outfits. My aunt assured me that once my growth spurt really hit that I’d be able to fill out the rest of Rodya’s wardrobe without a problem. Too bad that he had the least interesting taste of all three of them. Except for maybe my aunt, though she wasn’t really comfortable with me going through her used clothes at all.

Fine by me.

 

When I told Georgi about it (big mistake), he insisted we go to a mall.

“It’s a normal teenager thing to do!” he said.

“I guess, but I don’t have the money to buy anything. That’s the reason why I have second-hand?”

“Yeah, okay, sure. But it’s free to window shop!”

“Fine.”

“That’s right in your budget!”

I frowned at him.

“Free is on your list.”

“Okay, okay, I get it! I’m like a hobo and you want to go to the mall. Let’s go already!”

We took the bus to the mall. There were several right in downtown Saint Petersburg, and one that I went to often enough with the other dancers from Vaganova. But since I was going to be going with my hopeful boyfriend, I took Georgi to one on the other side of the Fontanka River.

“Window shopping is a great way to spend some time with your significant other,” Georgi explained. “You can get a good feel for what she likes. Observe her habits. Pay attention to the signals she drops.”

“So… take her out to stalk her is what you’re saying?”

“That’s… not what I said!”

“Uh huh.”

Makkachin stayed close, sniffing here and there. I had to admit, I was a little anxious with so many people around. Not because I was anxious on my own, but because I didn’t know how he was going to react to all of the people. So far he’d been good, but if I didn’t keep him on a tight enough leash, and he got into trouble, he could have his status revoked, and then he wouldn’t be able to come with me anymore, and-

“Hey, Viktor! Let’s go see a movie!”

I turned my attention to the theater up ahead. Formula Kino was popular with the international students at Vaganova, too; it was one of the places they could go to see the Hollywood releases in English, while the rest of us could read the Russian subtitles.

A movie. In the theater.

With Niko? Hmm!

I tried to picture it, the two of us sitting side by side in the dark, everyone’s eyes focused on the flickering image ahead. His hand would creep for mine, and it would be waiting, palm up. Maybe our fingers would lace together. If we kept our hands down low enough, beneath the seats, maybe no one would notice.

Those were the kind of logistics that I would need to work out ahead of time if I wanted to try it.

A movie was a great idea.

I nodded. “Yeah, okay! What’s playi-”

But before I could even finish my question, Georgi ran on ahead to get tickets.

 

We saw _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and shared popcorn. Makkachin helped. He even got his own seat, though he slept through the whole movie. I let it slide because he was a dog, but I almost got too wrapped up in crazy Jack Sparrow’s antics, and the romantic, unfairly handsome Will Turner’s inner conflict to pay attention to the theater itself. But it didn’t take long for me to figure out why couples preferred sitting in the back. A casual glance here and there revealed several dark corners just perfect for discreet cuddling, and sitting at the top meant you could see everyone beneath you… no one would catch you unaware.

Once that was taken care of, I let it go and got back to the drama and curses and _oh yes,_ the romance.

Pirates were so cool.

As we left the theater, Georgi couldn’t stop talking about Elizabeth. Which made sense, since she was the lead, and yeah, I guess she was pretty, but I was mostly jealous _of_ her. Will deserved better, with his cute puppy eyes and pouty face.

“That was a good idea,” is what I told him after while we shared a pizza at the adjacent food court, in lieu of any unconventional confessions. “And if we go to _Pirates_ , I probably won’t be nervous ‘cause I’ve already seen it before…”

“Oooh. Are you planning on making a move in the theater?” Georgi waggled his eyebrows. “That’s so classic, Viktor! Creep your arm around her shoulders, get in close…” he leaned over to pantomime, and I shied away while he laughed.

“I wasn’t saying _that_ , just- it might be nice, you know? Maybe hold hands…”

“Uh huh, uh huh. _Sure._ ” Georgi bit off a piece of breadstick, then spoke into it like a microphone. “You know what we should see next?”

I glanced back at the the theater, my wallet already hurting. “What?”

_“Titanic.”_

Blinking, I looked back at him. “What? The movie about the ship?”

“Yep,” he said. “That movie is _really_ romantic.”

“I don’t think it’s playing anymore, Georgi.”

“Don’t worry. It’s one of my mama’s favorites. We can watch it at my house.”

I hadn’t seen it before, but I’d heard plenty about it from the girls I went to school with. It was one of those movies you didn’t have to see to have basically seen it. _Memetic._ ”Sure, I guess?”

Georgi smiled, and I should have known then that it was a bad idea, because he was just a little bit too excited about it. “Great! I just know you’ll love it!”

“Okay…”

 

Georgi’s mama just said “okay!” when we got to his house and explained what we were doing as we headed into the den, and brought us snacks a little while later. The movie was romantic, just like Georgi had promised, but also long and terribly tragic.

I strongly suspect that he really wanted to watch it because of the scene with the naked Kate Winslet, but didn’t dare accuse him because he was so red in the face the whole time. There was no way he could have survived the art classes at Vaganova, that was for sure. Nude studies were part of life. Though we never knew our models, much less so intimately.

I probably would have had trouble drawing Niko. What if he wanted to draw me? But he didn’t really draw as far as I knew, anyway; he did photography.

If we became boyfriends, would he be interested in that kind of thing? He’d liked the proofs from Fifi’s photoshoot, after all. Maybe he would.

That was so scandalous.

But then Leonardo DiCaprio’s character died. And so did so many others. And it was so awful and cruel and unfair. If I’d been on the Titanic, I would have died, too. Gavrik would have been one of those rich people to get onto the lifeboats without a problem. I bet Niko would have, as well. Georgi? Probably.

I was an underdog like Jack. It’d be me in the water with everyone else on the stupid door. I tried not to cry while the ending credits rolled, but since Georgi was bawling, I couldn’t help it. Then we cried together and it was a mess, and Makkachin tried his best to comfort us both.

My poor dog.

“Gosha, really?” his sister said, coming down the stairs. _“Titanic?”_

I wiped my eyes, but Georgi just stuck his tongue out at her. “If you wanted to watch, you should have come sooner!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved him off and took the remote to rewind it. “Let’s watch the polka dancing scene!”

 

That night, we sat in Georgi’s room and talked instead of sleeping until it got dark, which took forever since it was summer in Saint Petersburg. I told him what I liked best about pirates (which was basically everything about being in the open sea, though I think I would have preferred to just live in a port city somewhere tropical), and he told me what he knew about curses. We both agreed that monkeys and parrots were great, too, and that we definitely would have set Jack Sparrow free, which made us both feel better.

But inevitably, we got back to the Titanic, and being out on the ocean stopped being appealing all over again.

“Do you think a cruise ship like that would be boarded by pirates?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “The Titanic was pretty big. The pirate ship would have to be pretty well equipped…”

Modern-day pirates were a fascinating idea, though. I made mental notes to explore the theme for a future program. I had so many that I needed to do.

“I can’t believe she let go of him in the end,” Georgi said,  stepping away from pirates as a topic of conversation once more. “Never let go Jack, she said. Never let go.”

I frowned up at him. “She had to go on living, though. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Like in _Moulin Rouge."_

“You’ve seen _Moulin Rouge?”_

“You act like I don’t have any friends at all, Georgi.”

He made a close-mouthed puffed-cheeked face like a bullfrog before he continued with a huff. “To be fair, you don’t act very sociable, Viktor.”

“Some of us went to the theater when it was released at Vaganova. A big group. Because there was so much dancing in it, you know? And it takes place in Paris.” I continued when Georgi just stared at me, rubbing Makkachin’s head where it rested on my knee. “We all learn French at Vaganova. It’s the language of ballet, you know.”

“Ahhh.” Georgi waved a hand, dismissive. “I think it’s really the language of _love._ ”

“Maybe it’s both.”

“But you’re right. Perhaps it is like _Moulin Rouge._ Rose went on to be very accomplished.”

“Like Christian,” I sighed.

Georgi arched a brow.

“That’s what I hope, anyway. I don’t like to think of him wasting away.” I didn’t tell Georgi that it hurt to think of him like that. I _ached_ , thinking of Christian mourning over his lost love, so heartbroken and sweet, so tender-hearted and handsome and— _God_ , I was so gay.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. He probably went on to write so many musicals and books and poems… and remarried…”

“Married for the first time, but yeah. Probably. I guess.” It didn’t seem possible to move on after such a love. “I hope, when I find my soulmate, that we’ll die together.”

“What?!” Georgi gaped. “You mean… like Romeo and Juliet?!”

“Er, sort of. But they were…”

“So romantic?” He suggested. “They were so moved by passion, so engulfed in their young love, they couldn’t _bear_ to be apart from one another! Not even for a moment! That’s so utterly tragic, I can hardly stand it!” Georgi swooned and fell onto his pillow, clutching his chest.

I watched him for a moment, blinking. “I think they were being kind of… reckless, personally. I was thinking more of like… that old couple on the Titanic. The ones in the bed? They died at the same time so that they wouldn’t have to be apart from each other after a _lifetime_ of being together… That’s…” I sniffed. I couldn’t help it.

“Oh, yeah. That part always gets me. It’s like your parents, too, isn’t it?”

I choked.

“I always thought that was… Everyone always says such nice things about your mama and papa.”

What could I say to that? Makkachin nudged my cheek, one paw lifted to my shoulder. “Yeah,” I finally said. “They were soulmates. They loved each other very much.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

We were quiet for a little while after that, with only my awkward, trying-not-to-cry breathing to punctuate the silence. After all of the crying from earlier, it’d turned into sort of a dull, throbbing headache. Dr. Matveev said that it was common after concussions for that kind of thing to happen. Even though mine wasn’t that bad, it’d made every headache worse ever since.

“Hey,” said Georgi, cutting me off mid sniffle. “What’s the story with Coach and his ex-wife, anyway? Lilia Baranovskaya?”

“Oh, uhm.” I wiped my face with my free arm’s sleeve, since Makkachin was leaning on the rest of me. “They’ve been divorced longer than I’ve been alive, I think, but they’re on and off again all the time. Both of them claim to hate the other, but they can’t ever stay away for long.”

“So they’re still in love, I guess. Love to hate and hate to love…”

“Something like that. What happened is pretty tragic, though. Right up your alley.”

“Oh?”

I sat up, clearing my throat to tell the tale since it deserved at least that much. Georgi didn’t need to know all of the details, of course- he wasn’t to be privy to all of Coach’s secrets -but he could hear the lovely fairy tale I’d constructed at least. “You know the house that Coach lives in?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a good, solid house. Strong. Sturdy. Like him. He’s lived there forever. He grew up there. It was passed down through generations from father to son, father to son, and Coach had a dream to marry and one day pass it on to his son. He never saw any reason to leave.”

“Makes sense.”

“Meanwhile, Lilia dreamed for her accolades to elevate her to the status of royalty. She wanted to be a queen among women- a prima ballerina, commanding respect, and living in a beautiful home that reflected this and all of the lavish things that she worked so hard to accomplish. Which, as you can imagine, is pretty much the opposite of Coach’s house.”

“...Oh.”

“But they didn’t talk about that, each assuming that the other knew what they wanted, and got married… and stuff happened,” I said, deftly skipping over all of the war stuff. “And when Lilia demanded they get a new house, things started falling apart.”

“So what did they do?”

“Coach won’t tell me everything that happened, but I think they got an apartment that neither of them liked, and that didn’t last very long… and so then Lilia bought her house- which is really fancy, just like her -and Coach moved back home to his house- which is just like him -and they just… sort of meet at hotels and the like, which is neutral territory. It’s kind of scandalous, really.”

“I don’t know. It’s kind of romantic.”

I arched a brow. “I’ve tried to get them back together a hundred times, but they’ll never stop being as stubborn as cats, romantic or not. I bet if they were on the Titanic, Lilia would tell Coach to jump.”

Georgi gasped. “That’s awful!”

“I _know!_ And he’d probably do it! But he’d argue first, of course.”

“Viktor!”

“And then she would cry. I know she would. And she would say he was such a damned fool.”

“Tragic!”

“It’s true!”

“Isn’t there anything that can be done?”

“I don’t know. If you have any ideas, I’m open to them. I always get in trouble for meddling, though.”

“...well I haven’t gotten in trouble for it yet.”

I grinned. “I think I’m starting to really like you, Georgi.”

“Why thank you, Viktor. I think I enjoy your company, too,” said Georgi, and I’d never seen him look quite so pleased.

 

Georgi’s mom dropped us off the next day at the rink for Saturday practice. We probably shouldn’t have, but the moment we saw Coach, everything from the night before stirred right up again, and Georgi and I each latched onto one of his arms.

“Coach!” I wailed. “You gotta make up with Lilia!”

“You have to, Coach!”

“I know you guys fight, but you’re in love and life is so short!”

“It’s so short, Coach!”

“And you don’t want to be all alone!”

“All alone, Coach!”

He only spent about ten seconds trying to figure out what we were crying about before he started barking orders to get off of him and onto the ice. Georgi gave up right away but I was a little harder to shake. Even I wasn’t a match, though, for big papa bear’s firm grip on my shoulders as he hauled me off.

“Vitya, we’ve been over this before! Don’t meddle in my love life!”

“But Coach!”

“GET ON THE ICE!”

His face was so red and veins so bulging, it was more a matter of not wanting to give him a heart attack that I gave in then. Defeated, I went to it while he huffed and puffed and tried to calm down.

Even though he was mad, though, I noticed him fiddling with his wedding band throughout practice.

Success!

 

n.y: you’ve been really quiet lately mishka

n.y: are you okay?

Me: oh yeah sorry

Me: i’ve just been running around a lot!

Me: lots of workshops and practice

n.y: and hanging around with gosha

Me: yeah

Me: I guess I got sort of roped into showing him around Saint Petersburg… not sure how that happened

n.y: yeah i thought you hated him

Me: he’s not so bad

n.y: you’re totally gay for him

Me: no way

n.y: what happens during all of your sleepovers huh?

 

I couldn’t tell him that we stayed up talking about love and soulmates, or crying over _Titanic_. That would probably be too much.

 

Me: we play with his dogs or his sugar gliders

n.y: sugar gliders?

Me: yeah he has a pair of them that he keeps in his den

n.y: what are sugar gliders

Me: they’re like squirrels

Me: flying squirrels with giant eyes and they’re so cute

n.y: ok…

Me: no listen

Me: i was sleeping and i heard this sound and i woke up all freaked out thinking that there were rats eating my feet, like the rat king from nutcracker

Me: and i freaked makkachin out by sitting up all fast

Me: and i looked over and there on the bed was georgi sitting there with a flashlight and two of these giant-eyed furry things sitting in the dark!!!!

Me: I ALMOST SCREAMED

Me: it scared me so bad

Me: but then it turned out that they were just sugar gliders and he put one on my arm and it crawled into my hair and made a nest and it was really cute

Me: their names are vladimir and danil

 

It took Niko a while to respond, which was fine, because I took the time to text Georgi about the sugar gliders. It had really freaked me out at the time, but they were really were so cute, and Georgi really seemed to like his creatures of the night, even though his mama wasn’t so keen on him sneaking his babies out of the cage late at night to play with them. But, they were nocturnal, so what else was he supposed to do?

 

Me: how are the gliders?

GeorgiP: sleeping :)

Me: cuuute

Me: how are the dogs?

GeorgiP: they’re good! How’s Makkachin?

Me: he’s good, too! Do you want to bring Drakkar to the park today?

GeorgiP: he’s kind of big for the bus :)

Me: oh yeah good point

GeorgiP: double pets for makka

Me: lucky dog

 

I ruffled Makkachin’s fur and got our stuff ready to head out for the day, and Niko replied just before we got to the door.

 

n.y: wow Mishka

n.y: i had no idea you liked little animals so much

 

I frowned. Not like I hadn’t mentioned every single animal I’d walked by in the past eight months to him, but sure. Okay. Niko really only seemed to pay attention when he thought I _wasn’t._

I tucked my phone in my pocket and Makkachin and I went out into the summer morning, headed for the academy. If Niko didn’t even care, what was all of this for?

Once we got safely past the row of shops and our first couple of bus transfers, I checked my phone from the privacy of the train station. There was a message from Niko that bowled me right over all over again.

 

n.y: but i guess you are a cuddly little bear yourself so it makes sense

 

Forget everything I said. He did care. I was just impatient. And blushing. And I really couldn’t wait to see him.


	19. Binktop's BFF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's rival confesses a deep, dark secret...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vitya's Playlist:**   
>  [_I Put a Spell On You_ \- Annie Lennox](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TrSMaOZm3Y&index=18&list=PLbdh3hx058l4Fs6mvYIPD-EnCIkI2pob-)

Georgi and I explored Saint Petersburg little by little, going everywhere and anywhere we could think to go that wasn’t cost-prohibitive or too far for a young poodle and two teenagers with metro passes to go. I took him to the docks, which were crowded and full of life; to every museum that our student IDs would give us discounts or free access; to every cafe that I knew of that had the best tea and the cookies that Coach liked; and I showed him how to get onto the roofs, which Makkachin wasn’t fond of at all. We got into dress rehearsals for theater productions, since I knew the dancers and directors working there, and I gave Georgi a tour of the Vaganova grounds, since he’d never been before.

It was busy and exhausting and if it weren’t for the breaks at parks, and taking time to watch movies for ‘research’ at his house, I probably would have died. I’d never had a summer that busy before. I think we probably combed just about every inch of the free and easily traversed downtown area. And then we went even further out from that.

We went everywhere, really, except for my house.

“How are your aunt and uncle, anyway?” Georgi asked while I loaded my arms with a new stack of books at the library- research for my exhibition skate.

“They’re fine.”

“I haven’t seen them in a while.”

I’d been taking the bus and the train and walking a lot to avoid having anyone give me rides to and from houses. Any time Georgi’s mama drove us, it was just to the city. I didn’t need his mama and my aunt making any sort of contact.

“Oh,” I said. “They’ve been busy. My uncle works all day and my aunt is part time.”

Georgi let it go, and I was grateful.

We went to the park.

Makkachin loved going to the park with us more than most anything else we did. It was there that I’d take off his vest and fluff up his fur and let him run around off leash a bit, chasing a tennis ball that Georgi and I would take turns throwing. He appreciated having time off from his doggy job, and I did my best to stay content while he relaxed.

Fortunately, it was pretty easy to do while he was so happy.

I looked over my books and the pages I’d printed out from the computer, sorting out a story in my head. It was 1950s America, and I was a waitress working in a… hamburger joint? A malt shop? Something like that. Serving up food that was terrible for everyone while saving up every bit in hopes of making it to college one day. Big dreams. Big heart. Hard-working. Nothing standing between me and the life I wanted as long as I had patience and tenacity.

I could see the black and white checkered tile, the chrome-plated stools up against the bar, the vinyl seats… and oh, there he was, coming in through that swinging glass door like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Dark hair, hazel eyes, bit of a scowl- and who could blame him? He deserved so much more than the pressure his parents put on him, or the teasing the girls gave him in school for being a loner, with his books. He was smart and sensitive; that wasn’t a crime. He was torture in that black leather jacket, taking a booth in the back and ordering coffee- black, no cream.

So manly.

When I bring it to him, he looks me over, heavy brows lifting, corner of his lips quirking ever so slightly to show his interest and I can’t help but tremble in my skates. I get back to work, but he watches me and I can feel his eyes following me as I deliver orders here and there and it’s like being hunted. I don’t want to admit it, but I like it. Then he stands, stalking to me, taking the tray I’m carrying and tossing it aside so he can take my hand.

There’s something so appealing in the honesty of _rough._ He’s one who knows what he wants and takes it, simple as that. No games, just hunger.

He pulls me close, and asks if I’d like to take a ride- of course he has a motorcycle -and I try my best to resist, just to see how hard he’ll press. I want to know just how much he wants me.

 _You deserve more than this,_ he tells me. _I can give you everything._

And he can. He’s tall. Strong. He has money. And _oh,_ he smells so nice. Twirls me out and when he pulls me in again, it’s for a soft and slow dance, one hand at the small of my back, holding me right against him and it’s like a little piece of heaven.

He searches my eyes, holding my chin between his fingers, trying to decide if I’m a devil or angel, but there’s no answer for that. How could any one person be expected to choose one? It depended on the situation, in certain conditions…

Situational angel, conditional devil…

 _Fair enough,_ he murmurs, then dips me low for a kiss.

“Makkachin! Let him sleep!”

I blink, suddenly aware of the blue sky cut in a latticework of swaying leaves overhead and my dog being pulled off of me by Georgi. “Huh?”

“You dozed off.”

My research lay scattered in Makkachin’s wake, and Georgi could barely contain his laughter, though he tried. Sitting up, I tried to collect everything and hold onto what I could of my fading dream in the process. “How long was I out?”

“Almost an hour. You’ve been tired lately.”

I groaned. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Musta been a good dream, though. Your sweetheart?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re blushing.”

Makkachin body tackled me, ready to be back on the job after his extended break, which was just fine by me. I was about ready to die.

 

As Niko’s trip got closer and closer, Georgi’s teasing got more and more relentless. Even Coach noticed, to the point where he actually told Georgi off for pestering me. It was nice to have Coach on my side again. I told him it was okay and he let it drop. Coach pulled me aside after to make certain.

“Vitya, are you sure everything is all right?”  
“Yeah, Coach,” I said, shrugging. “Georgi and I were just messing around.”

“You two are spending a lot of time together lately…”

“Yeah. Who woulda guessed?”

“It’s good for you to have friends, Vitya.”

I stuck my tongue out at him; a gut reaction.

“...but I wonder if you may have any feelings for your rinkmate?”

At first, I didn’t even understand the implication because it was so completely improbable, but the knowing smile on Coach’s face cemented it pretty quick and I almost _gagged._ “What?! Me? _Georgi?”_ I hissed, keeping my voice low in case said rinkmate had lingered behind to eavesdrop instead of waiting for me in the locker room. “No, Coach! No!”

“Oh?”

 _“Tree sticks_ , Coach!” I was still trying to whisper as I scrambled for my phone to pull up evidence. “No, no, no, I like _Niko._ Niko! Benefit boy. Moscow. You remember! Niko.”

The old man held up his hands, still smiling. “At your age it’s hard to tell, so I ask!” He conceded, but he still leaned in to look at the text that I showed him. The one where Niko had referred to me as a cuddly little bear. “Ah, yes. Mishka.”

“Yes,” I said, taking one last look at the text before hiding my phone and all of its precious contents. “Mishka. So there. Okay?”

“All right.” He patted my shoulder. “I’m glad that you have a friend, Vitya.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I pulled away from his touch and stomped toward the locker room where Georgi was waiting. “Bye, Coach.”

 

Me: Niko are you jealous?

n.y: of what?

Me: me spending all this time with Georgi

n.y: why would i care

n.y: he’s there in saint petersburg with you and i’m in moscow

n.y: that makes it hard to do anything

 

I shouldn’t have been texting during dinner with my aunt and uncle, but I couldn’t help it. The evening was when I was the most free because Georgi had to actually be with his own family during the week. I stared down at my phone instead of of the kotlety on my plate, but no one was paying attention with the TV on. Good thing, too. Each text tugged at my heartstrings, playing with my emotions like a cat does with yarn. It hurt.

The first part of it was so dismissive, like he didn’t care at all, but then each text after was an immediate betrayal of his true feelings. He wanted to be here. With me.

He _did_ care.

He _was_ jealous.

I didn’t want him to hurt. I didn’t want him to be sad. I didn’t want him to be all the way in Moscow, either.

 

Me: you’ll be here soon, though, you know

Me: and truth be told…

 

It was a risk. A calculated risk. But Georgi said that I had to take those risks and fight for love. That it was worth it. And if Niko really mattered to me, I had to be bold.

 

Me: I’ve really been wishing you were the one going with me to all of these places, anyway

Me: not him

 

I set my phone face down after I hit send. Honestly, I felt bad for saying that about Georgi. I really liked palling around with him. But I hoped that would get the right message across. Exclusivity. Preference. _Feeling._

Dinner didn’t hold my interest but I entertained it long enough for Makkachin to come wandering in and bump against my leg. He knew he would never get any scraps from me, but that never stopped him from trying. It was his one big weakness.

“No, Makka,” I told him, poking his nose.

He licked my finger, and gave me his best puppy eyes.

When my phone vibrated again, I abandoned dinner and began clean up, much to my relatives’ chagrin.

“You’re always on the go these days, Vitya,” my uncle said.

“He’s growing up so fast…”

 

n.y: i guess if you really wanted to we could do something while i’m there

n.y: if you’re not going to be busy with your rinkmates

Me: nope

Me: I’m all yours

Me: just let me know what day you’re free that weekend

n.y: ok

 

When I told Georgi the good news, he flipped out and called to congratulate me over the phone. Extreme? Yes. Charming? Perhaps.

I guess even Coach was calling him my friend, and he’d stopped being SecondPlace in my phone a couple of weeks back.

And maybe that was okay.

The next time I was over, though, Tetya Polya assaulted me right when we came through the door.

“Vitya! I hear that you have a big date coming up! That’s such good news!”

Although I turned a glare on Georgi, he’d already hidden behind her, that coward. I did the best I could on my own. “Er, yeah, I guess so.”

“Gosha will have to lend you something nice to wear, I think. And oh! You should let me cut your hair!”

My jaw dropped- really, mouth open like the herrings my aunt loves so much- and stared. Horrified. Speechless. Then I grabbed for my ponytail with palms and spread fingers, protecting like a dog protects a soup bone.

Makkachin stopped his customary greeting with Drakkar and Luchik and looked back in my direction.

“Mama,” Georgi cut in, three shades paler. “I don’t think-“

His weak show of chivalry shook me from my silence, and I made a sound that was half holler, half shriek, which got all of their attention. “You can’t cut my hair!”

I loved my hair. It was important to me. Sacred, even. Tradition or not, I wasn’t about to let some crazy lady anywhere near it!

Georgi’s mother stood still for a moment, stunned and blinking, then laughed. “I didn’t mean cutting it short, Vitya. No, no of course not. I know that’s part of your _image_. I just meant trimming it a little. Cutting off the split ends.”

“I don’t have split ends!”

But even as I said it, all three of us turned our attention to the tip of my ponytail, where the hair was pointed and maybe just a tiny bit ratted. Which didn’t make sense; I’d always used the beauty regimen that Lilia had recommended to me, and made sure to be careful with the hair dryer, so why…?!

“It’s all right, Vitya,” Tetya Polya said, smiling in spite of my obvious dismay. “It happens. We can just trim off the edges and it’ll be nice and healthy again. Perfect for your date.”

I squirmed in place. My hair. My beautiful hair. What had happened? How had things gone so wrong?

“It’s okay, Viktor. Mama cuts all of our hair. She’s really good at it. And you’ll love it. There’s nothing like a fresh haircut!”

I doubted that. I really, really doubted that.

 

To her credit, she did a good job, even though I was nervous the whole time. I kept imagining her getting too happy with the scissors and taking off several feet instead of just an inch. It would have been all too easy for her to do, with me sitting on that kitchen chair and her in control. I was Georgi’s rival, after all. She was a wolf mother. Those are _terrifying._

But she didn’t, and soon Georgi and I were up in his room again, with pizza as consolation, even though it wasn’t in either of our diets.

“We’re teenagers,” Georgi said. “You have to eat this kind of stuff sometime, Viktor. You need to grow.”

I didn’t believe him, but then again, Georgi wasn’t a ballet dancer. At least, he wasn’t living at a world-renowned ballet academy. It was different. But, the pizza was good, and I ate some to shut him up, leaning up against his bookcase.

“Sorry she freaked you out about your hair.”

“It’s okay. You wouldn’t believe how many times my aunt and uncle have threatened to chop it off.”

_“Really?”_

“Yep. And the only reason they haven’t made me cut it at the Academy is the president knew my mama. He put it down in the records as some religious thing, I think. Does that make me Samson?”

Georgi went pale again. “We just cut it, though.”

“I don’t think it really works like that, Georgi. Even in the Bible, his real sin was something _else.”_

“Oh.”

“I think Fifi would kill me if I ever cut it. My unicorn hair.”

“Hey, which Hogwarts house are you?”

I blinked at him. “Random. I don’t know.”

“You mean you’ve never thought about it or you have no idea what I’m talking about?”

I’d read all the books available in Russian, and I’d seen the movies. I’d probably pick up the fourth book during the Grand Prix circuit, too, since the final was being held in Colorado Springs, in the States. Of course I’d thought about it. What kid hadn’t? “I just don’t think anyone but the sorting hat can really decide.”

“That’s it. We’re gonna have you take a test.”

“A what?”

Georgi had me in his office chair in minutes, modem dialed in, with a ‘Which Hogwarts House are You?’ quiz on the screen. He hovered while I answered the questions, taking my time with each one.

“You nerd. Are you going to tell me which house you are?” I asked, glancing back at him with my cursor over the tally button.

“I value hard work, patience, and loyalty: I’m a Hufflepuff!” he said, and he was quite proud of it.

“Huh.” I hit the scoring button. “I can see that, sure, badgering me about every little thing.”

The website kicked back the result and both of us stared at it, the little graphic, and the description for a few seconds in silence.

“Ravenclaw,” I read. “Values intelligence, knowledge, and wit. Blue and bronze, emblematic animal is the eagle.”

“Wow. I thought for sure you’d get Gryffindor.”

“Really?” I turned to look at him. “I thought you’d assume I was Slytherin.”

“No, I…” He shook his head. “Anyway, do you think this is accurate?”

“I dunno.” The eagle on the screen was so poised, so in control of itself. I liked it, but I wasn’t sure that I could really claim my place among its roost. Maybe with years of training… “It’s just an online quiz.”

“But where do you _want_ to be?”

“There are pros and cons for each house. I’d have to make a list, really think about it.”

Georgi slumped in his chair with a sigh. “No, you’re definitely a Ravenclaw.”

“Why are you upset?”

“I’m not…”

Something wasn’t making sense. Me, a Gryffindor? Where had Georgi gotten that idea? But then it all clicked. “Wait. Georgi. Do you think that I’m some kind of Harry Potter?”

He flushed. “What? No!”

“You do, you _do_ don’t you?! You think I’m Harry, and you’re Neville, and Coach is Hagrid or something… oh my god and my parents even died in a car accident, and I live with my boring aunt and uncle- not under the stairs, though…”

“Viktor!” Georgi was laughing. “Stop!”

“And, well, my poodle is really, really smart, he’s pretty much a familiar, right Makka?”

Makkachin looked up from the floor where he’d been napping, confused, but wagged his tail.

“Pancakes, even Vaganova is a mystical sort of fancy Academy with dorms that most people aren’t allowed to go into…”

“Viktor!” Georgi howled, draped over the chair and half onto me. “I’m sorry!”

“Georgi, I’m _not_ a wizard or a witch. I’m not ‘the chosen one.’ I guess I can’t blame you, though. I _do_ have magical unicorn hair.”

He wiped tears from his eyes. “Okay, okay, okay. I get it.”

“Do you know who Voldemort would be?”

“I dunno,” Georgi picked himself up again, readying himself to crack up all over again. “Who?”

“No one. I don’t think life works like that. It’s not really logical, I guess? It’s more subtle.” I leaned back, hand to chin to think. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is more of a symbol for the ideals of the evils of the world than an individual, I think. This isn’t a story. You know?”

He frowned at me, slumping where he sat. “You’re definitely a Ravenclaw. I’ll never doubt again, you nerd.”

“H-hey.”

“Let’s have a Harry Potter movie marathon!”

 

So we did. And then we watched a movie called _Hocus Pocus_ , which I’d never heard of before. After that, it was something called _Practical Magic_. All the while, we played with the sugar gliders on the couch, letting them run around in and out of our sleeves, into my hair, snuggling into hoodie pockets like pouches. The best. But when Georgi got out this movie called _The Witches,_ I had to stop him.

“Georgi. I get that you’re really cultured and everything, but I’m sensing a theme here.”

He squirmed on the couch next to me.

“Not that I mind…” I yawned. It was _so late._ “But is this just a fun thing or is this part of training? Do you want me to help you bury your ex girlfriends in the backyard?”

“What? No! No… that’s not… Sometimes, you have to learn what _not_ to do in order to learn the proper way, Viktor. Besides, I think it was clear that true love conquered all, didn’t it?”

I rubbed Makkachin’s shoulders in thought. He’d fallen asleep with his head in my lap two movies ago, and I _so_ didn’t blame him. “Yeah, I guess so. And was I supposed to learn that putting my crush in mortal danger was a great way to get them to like me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“In _Hocus Pocus_. You know. Allison.” Okay, so I’d been crushing on the broody Max or the even cuter and more tragic Thackery Binx the whole movie, but Georgi didn’t need to know that.

“Oh. No. I like _Sarah.”_

I really couldn’t remember who that was. “Huh?”

“One of the Sanderson sisters. She was the really hot one. You know. _This_ one.” He showed me the cover, and I realized I should have known which one he was talking about right away. “Who needs Allison when you can have a _real woman?”_

It was so hard to resist the urge to shudder, but I managed, ruffling Makkachin’s ears instead. “Yeah. I really like her hair.” It was the best I could come up with, but at least it was true. “But what you’re saying I need to make the date dangerous so I can get that kiss?”

He turned to me and stared, long and hard, blinking only occasionally before he rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless, Viktor. Hopeless.”

“Hey! I am not!”

“Next movie.”

“What’s this one about?”

“Witches turning kids into mice to rid the world of children.”

It was my turn to stare. “Georgi, this isn’t—“

“It’s on theme!”

“Yeah, for the occult.”

I laughed. He didn’t.

In fact, he looked nervous.

“Georgi?”

Georgi picked up the remote, fingers tapping nervously at the buttons without actually pressing them. “Hey, are you tired?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I was really, really tired. “I thought you wanted to watch another movie, though.”

He turned off the TV and set the remote aside. “Let’s go to bed.”

“O-okay. Sure.”

 

By the time I got comfy in my sleeping bag on the floor, dogs around me, I was ready to drop dead asleep. So of course when Georgi turned out the light and climbed into his bed, he wanted to talk.

“Hey, Viktor?”

“Mm?”

“You’re still awake, right?”

“Yeah…?”

There was a long beat of silence, and then: “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Georgi.”

It’d happened a few times before, usually with my roommates, but also with my cousins, or other dancers on trips. Even Coach, once or twice, though it was usually me on the other end of it. There was something about the dark, and having someone so close; an almost sort of anonymous intimacy that let you confess what you couldn’t any other time. Just the night and a blanket to hide in if the listening ear didn’t like what you had to say.

But somehow, everyone was more receptive to those whispered words, vulnerably seeking some kind of understanding. They came with trust, fear, and hope.

“Do you…” he struggled to get the words out, hesitating to consider his words carefully. “Do you believe in a higher power? Like, a God or life after death… or anything like that?”

Humming, I rolled onto my back to search for meaning in what I could see of his ceiling, and Makkachin wiggled closer so he could have his chin on my shoulder. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it too much.”

“Really?”

“It’d be nice if there was _something_ , but I’ve heard lots of ideas…”

Georgi moved so he could peek at me over the edge of the bed. “Yeah?”

“Vaganova has dancers from all over, so we get all sorts. Some are more vocal than others about it. I hear more about churches at school than I ever did at my aunt and uncle’s. Especially from the international students.”

He fell back against the bed. “And your parents?”

My hand stilled in Makkachin’s coat as I wondered how to answer that. Were they watching over me? Would I ever see them again? Had they reincarnated as some kind of guardian spirit, or moved on to some better life where they could be in love all over again?

Even after all this time, thinking about it made my throat tight and I couldn’t say anything. Just breathe, slow and measured breaths.

What would they think about all of this? Niko and me…

Was this a mistake?

“Viktor?”

I shook myself out of my thoughts, and Makkachin licked my cheek. “Huh?”

“You’re still awake.” He sounded relieved.

“O-oh, yeah, sorry. Uh. Yeah, I dunno.”

“That’s okay… they probably didn’t discuss what they believed in much when you were little, right? If they weren’t Orthodox...”

“Uh. Not… too much. Not like that. I think my papa might have been Jewish, but he wasn’t practicing. Mama just talked about soulmates a lot.”

“Oh.”

“But it’s not like I’m opposed to it. That’s what I meant. I just haven’t decided anything.”

Georgi studied me in the dark, but said nothing, even though he looked like he wanted to. Really, really wanted to. He was dying to confess _something._

I took the bait. “What about you?”

“Me? Oh. Uh.” He fell back to his pillow, disappearing from view. “I think… I think I want to look into Wicca.”

That explained the movies that we’d watched, though I wasn’t sure that it translated to real life at all. “Really?”

“Yeah. I have a couple of friends online that are, and I’ve been doing research…”

“Oh.”

“They want to send me some books.”

“Americans?” I asked.

“...yeah.”

Americans were good at sharing information. Lots of it. Loudly. “Huh. Okay.”

He peeked at me again, just his curled fingers, eyes, and the top of his head visible over the edge of the bed. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” I stretched out on the floor, folding one arm behind my head so I could leave the other for Makkachin, petting from his neck to behind his ears. It was supposed to be a pose of supreme ‘everything is okay’-ness and reassurance. “So you’re a witch.”

His eyes got wider, then wider still, but he said nothing. Just stared.

Waiting.

I smiled at him. “Okay.”

Then his chin came to rest on his fingers and he canted his head to one side, like a confused puppy, frowning. “You don’t mind?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

 _“You’re_ weird, Georgi, but being a witch has nothing to do with it.”

He grinned, then immediately went back to frowning. _“Hey._ You’re weird, too!”

“I know.” I’d have to be really stupid not to. I didn’t know any other skating ballerina boy-who-is-also-a-girl princesses. It was a hard life.

“You, uh, won’t tell my parents, right? They wouldn’t…”

“No,” I said, voice firm. I was dead serious about _that._ If there was one thing I knew, it was how important a secret was. Especially with traditional parents like his. “Never. No one will hear it from me.”

With a relieved sigh, Georgi got back to being comfy. “If I knew how to do spells and stuff already, I’d make you a love potion to use on your girl, you know. Help you out.”

“Awww. That’s sweet, Georgi. But I want to do this fair and square. I don’t think love spells are the way to do it. It _never_ works out in fairytales.”

“I guess…”

I laughed. “But yikes. Watch out, girls of Saint Petersburg. Georgi Popovich on the prowl.”

“Of the _world,_ you mean _.”_

“Wow.”

Georgi managed a pretty funny maniacal stage-laugh, and I had to bury my face in Makkachin’s fur to muffle my own giggles. It was ridiculous. We lapsed into quiet after that, and for a while I started to drift back to sleep. But then, sure enough, there was the rustle of blankets as he rolled back toward me.

“Hey Viktor…”

I didn’t bother to open my eyes that time. “Mm?”

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing, Georgi.”

“You know, you can trust me, too. If there’s ever anything you wanna tell me.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah, I know. Thanks,” I said. I wasn’t lying. I knew I _could_ probably tell him. A princess with a witch for a best friend. Sharing secrets. Would he understand? Would he accept me? Or would he leave, like Gavrik had? It could be the wolves all over again, right in my rink.

 

Maybe I could tell him.

But I wasn’t going to.

 

When I went home on Sunday evening, I took up Georgi’s offer to let his mama drive me home for once instead of taking the rail. I’d been careful to avoid any crossover the whole summer, but there were only two weeks left before Niko would be here. After that, it’d be back to the Academy and the start of the competitive season for the Junior Grand Prix. Even if I could come up with an excuse to see Georgi outside of training, there really wouldn’t be time until holiday breaks except on weekends, and I needed every minute I had for homework or rehearsals.

When we got to my aunt and uncle’s house, I didn’t run in right away. Instead, after Makkachin and I climbed out of the car, I tapped on the passenger window, and waited for Georgi to roll down the window.

“Hey, Georgi,” I said, feet shuffling on the concrete where a crack had let some grass come up. “Do you want to come over to my place next weekend? Trade off this time?”

The startled look on his face might have been funny if it hadn’t come with such a feeling of guilt. His mother had to answer for him while he just gawked at me.

“Why Vitya! That would be lovely. Thank you so much for the invitation. I’ll drop him off here Friday afternoon; how’s that sound?”

“Good,” I said. Georgi was still speechless. “Dinner time?”

“Perfect. I’ll have him here then.”

“Thank you. And thanks for the ride, too. And for letting me stay over.”

“Of course, Vitya. Any time.”

Makkachin tugged at his leash, tail wagging. He was glad to be home and anxious to get me inside. Dinner and all of his favorite toys were waiting for him. I waved, and Georgi’s mother waved back, with Georgi joining in only after she nudged him.

“See you tomorrow, Georgi!”

“Y-yeah! See you!”

I waited, watching them pull away and drive down the street before going into the house to tell my aunt that we were going to have company. She was thrilled.

 

A friend, a friend.

A friend for Vitya.

 

Summer storms moved in and out at like the ocean current as they did every year in Saint Petersburg, pulling in the ocean air and sweeping everything clean. I loved the rain and the energy of the thunder, but it made it hard to do much more than stay inside.

I spent the next week fine-tuning the Hopak skate and begging my dance teachers to critique my rusty jive. Most of what I would be doing for my exhibition would be based on the Cha-Cha, which was pretty basic stuff for someone classically trained, but if I wanted my moves to seem _authentic_ , I needed help.

Rock and roll wasn’t in anyone’s ‘wheelhouse’ for summer workshops, though. Not when I was supposed to be refining my classic ballet technique and working on my lifts. I didn’t even have a song yet.

Georgi took me back to his house one afternoon in lieu of city exploring, and we spent the afternoon listening to oldies in his garage while thunder rumbled overhead. I had no idea he had such an extensive collection, but that was the Popovich family. Why not?

“You’ll have to show me your collection when we get to your house,” he said. He’d been bringing up ‘my house’ every chance he could get. I wanted to be mad, but I guess I couldn’t blame him for being excited.

“It’s not that great. One day, I’ll have a huge music library, though. When I have my own place.”

“That’d be so cool.”

Georgi cycled through 1950s pop, rock n roll, doo-wop, rhythm and blues, playing DJ while I tried them out. Makkachin dozed in the corner, and the open garage door kept the air fresh and alive and exiting.

It wasn’t unusual to start dancing at the Academy on a whim; get a good song going, and hardly any student would be able to resist the call. So it didn’t seem strange at all that Georgi joined in, both of us dancing an impromptu Lindy.

“Gosha, you look so gay dancing around like that!”

One of his brothers stood at the doorway to the house, laughing at us. I hadn’t even noticed him, too wrapped up in the music. I froze in place.

Georgi just laughed right back, turning mid-hop to throw a retort his way. “And you look so gay just standing there!”

Their teasing was so natural and the insults came so easily to their lips. Like frequent visitors or old friends.

I didn’t think any of it was funny. Maybe they meant it all as a joke, but it was hard to tell sometimes.

The sky flashed from the storm and the brothers got quiet to listen to the grumble that followed three seconds later. Then it was back to the music of half a century ago and the rain drumming  the flagstone and the manicured lawn.

It was a good opportunity to check on Makkachin, who’d woken up to glare out at the wet pavement. I crouched at his side and gave him pets, as if he were the one that needed them, not me.

Vasin went back inside with a final shake of his head, and Georgi changed up the tracks again, chuckling to himself. “Sorry about the interruption. Let’s see… Oh, here we go! This one is perfect for you, Viktor!”

I looked up when it started, speedy electric guitar picking immediately catching my interest and provided just the distraction I needed, pulling my thoughts away from where the place they’d been going. Bass, drums, and a smooth, bluesy voice- I already wanted to move. I _had_ to move. Georgi was right. It _was_ perfect for me.

_Roll over Beethoven,_

_and tell Tchaikovsky the news._

 

The rain didn’t let up the rest of the week. We explored the marshes a bit near where my aunt and uncle lived, but I never brought him back to the house.

“You have to wait for Friday!”

“Mean.”

“Patience, Georgi.”

It was so wet and mosquito-ridden that we couldn’t stay out for long anyway, though. Not because we were quitters, but because Makkachin kept trying to swim out after the frogs and I couldn’t go after him. It was definitely something I’d have to keep in mind for the future: Makka was a very, very good swimmer, and he _loved_ the water.

Also, Georgi’s mom did _not_ like him coming home soaking wet and covered in mud.

Neither did my aunt, but at least she was used to it.

When Tetya Polya dropped Georgi off on Friday, her smile was a little more strained than the last time I’d seen her.

“And do try to stay away from the swamps, dears,” she said.

I shuddered. It was almost like Lilia.

We promised, and I put the forest on the forbidden list, too. I wasn’t ready to share that with Georgi. Not yet. I had other things in mind, anyway.

But first, Auntie made him eat herring, because of _course_ she would.

_And he liked it._

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he asked after he was stuffed and my aunt was as pleased and giddy as she could possibly be.

“Nah, let’s go upstairs. I wanna show you something.”

“You boys have fun!” My aunt had her hands gripped around my uncle’s arm like she might float away.

I ignored her, but Georgi called back a “Thank you, we will!” like the good boy he was. That Georgi Popovich. Peh!

Once in my room, I shut the door, got Makkachin his rawhide from the top of the dresser, and went to my closet. Georgi made use of his time, taking everything in like my room was some kind of museum.

“So this is your room,” he whispered.

“Yep. At least part of the year.”

“Can you believe it?”

Over my shoulder, I saw that he was gazing at me with those wistful, puppy-dog eyes again. Emotional. “It’s not _that_ great.”

“We’ve come so far as friends… you even invited me over. I’m standing in your room. You never let anyone into your room!”

“...Are you trying to make me regret it now?”

“No! No, not at all!”

Rolling my eyes, I went back to it. “Pancakes… Okay, calm down. I’ve been working on something.”

He came to peer around me, but I stood and shoved a tackle box into his arms, then pushed him to the bed. “What’s this?”

“Take a seat and stop talking.”

I got him sitting criss-cross in front of me on the bed with the tackle box on my left side, active supplies on the right, and a clean towel in between. Makeup was a part of any skater’s performance, but as far as I knew, Georgi had only worn the basics for his routines… the things that would accentuate his natural looks and show up well on camera. It was probably his mother’s handiwork, since she was the one responsible for his haircuts, and if her bragging was to be believed, she went to all of his competitions.

But that also meant that she probably controlled him.

“What are you doing, exactly?”

“I said no talking.” I had a full arsenal at my disposal, and years of having worn and applied theater makeup to aid me. The past week, I’d practiced. Just a few techniques here and there; nothing serious that I couldn’t quickly wipe off, but I felt confident as I prepared my canvas that _this_ was going to be my gift to Georgi. The one thing that I could offer that he could keep, no matter how busy, no matter how divided.

Even if he found out about Niko.

He frowned at me, but that was fine- it was sort of his resting face anyway. I wiped him down, applied moisturizer, then set to work with my array of liquids, creams, and powders; brushes, pencils, poufs. I didn’t have a _ton_ of practice doing makeup on others, but I knew enough to make it work, gradually transforming my clean-cut rich boy friend into the dark creature of the night that he believed himself to be. It was actually pretty cool with the sharp features that he had, still coming into definition. I gave him stark lines, smoky shadows, black lips and eyeliner against smooth, pale skin. There was just enough lavender blended in to give him an almost _dead_ look, like a vampire, and I regretted not having false fangs to give him. That might have been going too far.

When I finished, I found the hand mirror and held it face down in my lap. “I’m gonna show you what I did. If you hate it, we can wash it off. If you like it, I’ll teach you how to do it tomorrow so you can do it yourself. Sound good?”

His nod was a brave one, like all good Russian boy’s should be.

I handed him the mirror, and for all that bravado, he didn’t look at first. I cleared my throat. “Coach always told me that I can be who I want to be on the ice. That’s the same for you, too, Georgi. Even if you can’t be you any other time. Da?”

He nodded again, then lifted the mirror and took in the gothic facade; his war paint. For several long and silent seconds, he stared at himself, eyes searching like a river to find himself.

“Well?” I asked when the quiet continued to stretch on and on. “Do you like it?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, stretching back in indecision, and Makka slithered over my comforter to slip his head between my arm and my hip, resting his chin on my thigh while Georgi said nothing.

“Georgi…”

Still without saying anything, he lowered the mirror, and his head. A little sob escaped him.

“Why… why are you crying? I did a good job, didn’t I?” Maybe he preferred a different style to the death metal aesthetic, but I could work on that! No problem! “Georgi! What’s wrong?!”

“You-” he choked out, lifting his head with a sudden smile and a full-on stream of tears. “You did this all for me.”

“W-well… yeah. Stop crying, you’re going to ruin your makeup, you dingbat.”

What Georgi was doing, getting so emotional, had Makkachin really worked up. He whimpered, sitting up so that he could be right up against my side. This only put him right in the middle when Georgi leaned over to bear hug, skinny arms wrapped all the way around my shoulders.

“You act like you’re so bitter and jaded and alone, but really you just needed a friend, Viktor! I knew it! It’s okay! I’m here for you.”

Makkachin tried to wriggle free, and something about that with the combination of Georgi’s sobs and melodrama made me lose it, too. I don’t know what it was. I just couldn’t help it. Which was stupid. But he was crying, and then I was crying, and Makka was going _ooOOooOOOOOo_ and it was a big MESS that didn’t stop until my aunt opened the door.

“...Are you boys okay in-”

She stopped mid question, staring at us while we stared at her, arms around each other, dog between us, with tears and makeup all over.

For several heartbeats, no one moved. I don’t even think Makkachin breathed. It was just a moment frozen in time.

Finally, my aunt came to herself, blinking. “What’s going on?”

“It’s… it’s performance art, obviously!” I screeched. “Don’t you see the stage makeup?!” Leaning back, I gestured at the makeup kit, the wedges, the brushes and powders. While she looked, I wiped my eyes, then smacked Georgi’s hands away from his own face. “You’re ruining it, Georgi. Cripes, what did you do?”

“Sorry!”

I don’t know if my aunt really believed me despite it being the truth, but she left, shaking her head and closing the door behind her.

Makkachin collapsed against me with a groan, and Georgi sat back, laughing.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He wiped his eyes, careful of the liner this time. “Just the way you yelled. You were so fierce! Even to your poor aunt.”

“She shoulda knocked. Let me fix your makeup. If… you like it, that is.”

“Da! I do!” Georgi smiled again. He really did have a nice smile. Sort of sweet. He was going to be a heartbreaker one day for sure. “And you’ll teach me?”

“Yeah. Everything I know. I got you some mascara and eyeliner to take home, but anything else we’ll have to pick up tomorrow.”

“We’re going to buy makeup?”

“Why not? We need to have it for our programs. Oh, we can get some nail polish, too. I usually skip that, but you might like it.”

No joke, his eyes actually sparkled at the prospect. “Black nail polish?”

“You can get whatever you want, Georgi. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

“Never.”


	20. Kismet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destiny has a chance encounter with Viktor!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vitya's Playlist:**   
>  [ _Perfume - Shaed_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z41CZjLJAQ4&list=PLbdh3hx058l4Fs6mvYIPD-EnCIkI2pob-&index=19)

n.y: mom is really excited to see you

Me: and what about you? ;)

n.y: ...well sure. Me, too

n.y: but mom keeps talking about it. I guess she read your interview

n.y: you’re real cute with your dog

 

How was I going to survive seeing Niko in person when even a little text like that got me all excited? Every day that brought him closer left me more and more an anxious wreck, and Makkachin worked overtime to keep me in check.

Georgi did his best, too, giving me pep talks and text reminders of everything he’d taught me over the past few weeks. Which, honestly, wasn’t much. I think in the end he just really wanted someone to show him around Saint Petersburg.

Or maybe he just wanted a friend.

 

“And don’t forget that when this is over, and you have yourself a girlfriend...”

 _“If,_ if I have a girlfriend…” That still sounded so wrong.

 _“When,_ Viktor. When you have a girlfriend,” Georgi said, patting my back after Thursday practice. “You get to help find one for _me._ ”

“But I thought you didn’t need help, Georgi.”

“I don’t. But all those ballerinas you go to school with?” He winked.

“Uh huh…”

 

On Friday, I sent Niko a message wishing him a safe flight and took Makkachin out for a good run. We needed to be our best for the long day ahead, which meant burning all the excess energy bright and early. Then it was a bath for Makkachin, a shower for me, and lots of hair drying, curling, styling, towels, product, plus just a bit of war paint to finish it off. For me, that is. Makkachin only got fluffed up and brushed.

Once we were both thoroughly pretty- with Makka in his vest, me in capris, boots, and an untucked button up -we left for for therapy training. It’d take us closer to downtown with just a couple of hours to kill until Niko and Tetya Olya were ready for dinner. I had my backpack with Makkachin’s supplies and some of my own things, though, so it wasn’t like I would be bored. There were always things to do in Saint Petersburg.

Makkachin led the way to the bus station, familiar with the route that we’d taken nearly every weekday for the past several weeks with an eager little bounce in his step, but he never tugged on the leash. I was pretty sure that dogs were supposed to misbehave at least a _little_ more than he did, but I wasn’t going to complain.

When we got to the stretch where the urban sprawl became concrete canyons of apartments stacked on shops, Makkachin kept himself close. The sky, a bright cornflower blue through the cotton clouds, made the wide sidewalks, and the alleyways, and all of the fake little parks between buildings look cheerful. Nothing like they’d been the night I was attacked.

Even though I hadn’t seen those guys since, and I always walked on the other side of the street, kept my head down, moved quickly, I always felt that urge to run as soon as I realized where I was.

Every time.

Most days, it was fleeting. Just a scant thought that came in and out of mind, enough to get me going faster, turn up the volume on my discman. Make Makkachin upset.

Other days, I _did_ run.

Makkachin stopped to squat right across from the same convenience store where it started, making a statement by marking his territory. I gave him privacy, staring past the traffic to the antique shop that had always been closed and dark. The owner’s business card was still in my wallet, but I’d never tried to call him. I’d never been back to that door.

Today that door was open, because someone was coming out of the shop, and reaching back to turn the light off. He was a heavy-set man that looked like he could have been Coach’s older cousin. Once the shop was dark, he locked the door.

The owner of the antique shop.

Of all days, him being there had to be a sign. Fate. Destiny. _Kismet._ It was meant to be. I had to act, and I had to do it now. Face my fears and make things happen.

“Hey!” I yelled, but the man didn’t seem to hear me. “Hey, sir!” I tried again, louder. Still nothing.

I tugged on Makkachin’s leash, and he looked up from the patch of dandelions that he’d been sniffing. “Makkachin, we need to get to that shop,” I said. If I was quick, I could make it across the street before he left. Makkachin started toward the crosswalk, but there wasn’t enough time for that. Besides, the street was empty this time of morning; if I was fast, it’d be fine. I scooped him up into my arms, holding him tight, and sprinted across the street. Halfway across the center divider, I started yelling again. “Hey! Wait up!”

The man stopped on the way to his parked car to watch me, and frowned as I ran to him, Makkachin’s ears bouncing when we finally got to the sidewalk.

“Thank you, I can’t believe I caught you,” I gasped, setting Makkachin down. He shook out all four of his paws before sitting down smartly at my feet. He didn’t mind being carried, but it wasn’t the most dignified for a young poodle. He sniffed.

The man wasn’t impressed. “Just what did you think you were doing, running across the street?! You could have been killed, young man!”

“I guess, but there weren’t any cars, and I couldn’t let you get away. Your shop is always closed!” I nodded to the dark window. “That _is_ your shop, da?”

“Yes, but that’s no reason to run across traffic. And your poor dog!”

We both turned to Makkachin, who looked away, indignant.

“Sorry, Makka.” Bending down, I ruffled his ears in apology, then put on my sweetest face for the man, hoping to butter him up. “It’s just… destiny that brought me here. Do you still have the owl and the cat?”

“The…” He studied my face like he was waiting for it to register, but it never did. “What are you talking about?”

“In your shop. A few weeks ago. There were two figures- an owl and a cat. Dancing together.” I hopped from the car to the window, waving for him to follow, and peeked inside. There they were, just like I remembered, paw and wing folded to let them embrace. “There they are! They’re still here! Please, please let me buy them!”

He pulled away from his car, and peered behind me. “Oh, the salt and pepper shakers?”

I gasped. “Salt and pepper shakers?!”

“That’s… what I said.”

A whine escaped me. “Please. Please. I have to have them. I have the money right here.”

“You don’t even know how much they are, boy.”

I tore myself from the window to face him, bleeding heart breaking. “I- I guess not… but…”

“Why do you want them so badly?”

“They’re soulmates. They belong together.”

“And that means that _you,_ someone who runs across traffic with his dog in his arms, must have them?” He wasn’t convinced and he _really_ wasn’t impressed.

Maybe he had a point. I bit my lip and Makkachin thumped my ankle with his tail, reminding me that he was there. It helped.

“Yes, that was stupid. But I want to make sure they’re kept together. That’s really important to me. The thought of them being torn apart somehow… I can’t stand it.” I pulled my backpack around to dig for my wallet. “If I can’t afford them today, maybe I can give you a downpayment?”

“What’s your name?”

“Viktor… Viktor Nikiforov.”

He studied me a moment, then took his keys from his pocket and started back for the door of his shop. “Ah, the figure skater. Come in, then. Let’s take a look at these soulmates of yours.”

 

They hadn’t been that expensive after all- I could have bought them -but the shop owner gave them to me as a gift, on the condition that I promised not to run across the street anymore. I promised, and he wrapped them both for me in paper, then packed them in a little box so I could take them with me on the train.

“Take good care of them,” he said. “They came to me from a from an old widow’s estate sale. She felt much the same as you do, young man.”

“I will. I promise. I’ll let them dance and get married and all of that, all they like.”

“Good.” He smiled. “And good luck in the next season.”

“Thank you!”

 

We were a little late to Makkachin’s class, but no one said anything. He did well, following all of the requested commands, demonstrating the behaviors that they wanted, and waiting patiently while I sat through the group lecture. That was probably the worst part. By the end if it, though, Makkachin had his treats and I had lots of luck wished upon me by the group for the dinner date with my sponsor.

“Don’t worry, Vitya! It’ll go just fine.”

“Tetya Olya must adore you. We all do!”

They had no idea that it wasn’t _her_ that I was worried about, but at least Makkachin looked extra cute with the bow tie they gave him for the occasion.

 

Makkachin and I spent the rest of our time downtown, trying to a) find gifts, b) not freak out. We succeeded at neither and ended up at the hotel early and empty-handed. At least that let me use the free restrooms to freshen up. I still looked cute, but was I cute _enough?_ I couldn’t stop shaking. Was it going to be okay? Could I eat a fancy dinner with fancy people without Coach there to help me? Sure, I had Makkachin, but he didn’t know what to say or do or who any of the important people were, either.

“This was a mistake,” I moaned.

At my feet, Makkachin smiled at me, chest puffed out to show off his bow tie.

It helped.

After I finished primping as much as I could stand, I checked my phone and the messages that waited for me.

 

GeorgiP: good luck! You can do this!

GeorgiP: tell me EVERYTHING the second you can

GeorgiP: put all the moves on her

GeorgiP: I’m counting on you

GeorgiP: we’re ALL counting on you

 

God, that was right. His whole family would be waiting to hear the news on Vitya’s First Date. But what would they do if they found out? Really, really found out?

No, I couldn’t worry about that. Not now.

I moved on to the message from Niko.

 

n.y: we’re heading down to the lobby soon. Are you almost here?

 

The time stamp read two minutes earlier. I held my breath as I read and reread it, over and over again. It was now or never. Time to face the boy and his mother. My crush and my sponsor. Niko and Tetya Olya.

 

Me: i’ll be waiting :)

 

With one last check of my warpaint, I went out to wait in the lobby.

 

“Vitya!” Tetya Olya saw me before I saw her, and pulled me into an embrace once I was on my feet. “It’s so good to see you again, look at how tall you’ve gotten! Kodyasha, isn’t he getting tall?” She showed me off to her son, bracelets clinking together when she took hold of my shoulders.

“Yeah. I guess.”

I flushed under his attention, brief as it was. “Well, you know.” I bit my lip. “Getting older.”

Tetya Olya laughed and hugged me again, then turned her attention to Makkachin. “And this must be your Makkachin, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“He’s so handsome with that little bow tie. How old is he?”

“Almost nine months!”

“You must be so proud.”

I couldn’t help it. I was. I was _so_ very proud of my Makkachin. “He’ll shake your hand if you ask him to.”

Even though she was in high heels and a pencil skirt, Tetya Olya bent down and gave him a firm handshake when he offered his paw. “Good boy,” she said, and patted his head.

Makkachin wagged his tail so hard. We both loved Tetya Olya.

“Do you want to shake his paw?” I asked, turning to Niko. He was taller than I remembered. Broader, too; just a little. Filling out and fit to be oh so handsome. It’d been so long since I’d seen him, maybe it was good that he wasn’t smiling. I’d probably die on the spot if he had.

“Go on,” Tetya Olya said, ribbing him. “Be a good sport Kodyasha.”

“How do I do this?” Niko asked, frowning.

I smiled, trying to be encouraging. “Just hold out your hand and ask him to shake.”

He crouched, because he was too tall to just bend down, and held out his hand. “Shake.”

Makkachin did as he was told, putting his paw in Niko’s hand without hesitation. He was the best dog.

“Good boy, Makkachin!” I got down next to Niko, and pet my pup with no ulterior motive like trying to catch Niko’s scent or lean on him or anything like that, and it was all completely wonderful for about thirty glorious seconds. Like New Years had been. Oh, if only we could have stayed like that! My shoulder to his, our heads so close together, legs nearly touching…

Tetya Olya had other ideas. “Okay, you two. I promised dinner, and I’m starving.”

 

We took a cab to a restaurant that I’d never even heard of before and Tetya Olya took care of the bill. I’d never seen food so expensive before, but she assured me that she was happy to treat. She and Niko were on business, after all, and I was their guest.

“Speaking of, Vitya, we’ll be hosting a gala next month and I’d love it if you and Coach Feltsman could join us.”

“A… what? In Moscow?”

Niko gave me a look of _please save me_ , then smiled around his glass. Subtle and sarcastic.

So cute.

“Yes in Moscow,” his mother continued. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of your airfare. And you two can stay with us if you like. There’s plenty of room. Wouldn’t you agree, Kodyasha?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“I… I uh, I’d have to ask Coach.”

“Oh, you’ll love it! We’ll spoil you the whole time you’re there, and the gala is formal, so you’ll need to bring your best suit-" she stopped herself. “Why Vitya dear, why the worried face?”

I was trying to keep my anxious hand wringing under the table, where I could pet Makkachin and no one would be able to see, but the color had drained from my face, too. I tried to laugh. “I just haven’t had a chance to go shopping since I started getting tall. None of my formal wear fits anymore.”

Not to mention that I couldn’t afford any of it. I’d always improvised or borrowed from Vaganova, but for something like this…

“Oh, is that all? Vitya, don’t worry about it! Niko can take you shopping tomorrow.”

“What?” Niko looked as surprised as I was at being volunteered, but I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not.

“Yes, of course. He’ll take my card and find you a new suit. I am your sponsor after all. I can’t have you worrying about things like that when you need to be focused on your skating!”

I wanted to cry. I almost did, right there in the fancy restaurant. “You mean it?”

“Of course!”

Niko laughed under his breath and suggested we get dessert.

Even I couldn’t say no to that this time.

 

Tetya Olya insisted on taking me home that night, even though it was way out of the way and would cost so much money. She wanted to make sure that Makkachin and I got home safely, and to meet my aunt and uncle, if only briefly. They thanked her, and she hugged me again before getting into the cab to go back to the hotel. Niko said he’d text and we could arrange a time to meet up for shopping.

And then they were gone.

I took care of Makkachin, hugged my relatives, then went up to my room to fall into bed and give Georgi an update.

 

Me: I’m back at my house now, you can stop freaking out

 

He called immediately.

“So how did it go?”

“I’m…” I struggled to come up with a way to adequately describe my feelings. “I’m definitely in trouble.”

“It’s love! It has to be!”

I sighed, the air pulled from my lungs like a sweet summer breeze, and rolled onto my side. “I don’t know. It’s not like we even did much today. We barely spoke.”

“Details, Viktor. Details!”

I told what I could, about dinner, the shopping we did do- mostly souvenir shopping for Niko’s mama, and what the plans for tomorrow were, but left out the part about the invitation to Moscow. That’d be too easy for Georgi to trace.

“I mostly spoke to h-" I caught myself. “-er mama all evening, but every time our eyes met across the table, it was like New Years all over again.”

“Sparks flying? Heart pounding? All of that aching desire?”

“Not… quite like that.” It was hard to place, exactly. Niko was different. Sure, I wanted to kiss him, and I’d had fantasies about him taking me into his arms and whisking me away on a giant, winged stallion, but that wasn’t quite the same thing. At least, I didn’t think it was. “Georgi, have you ever wanted to… go on an adventure with someone?”

He made a confused grunting sound.

“You know. You and a partner, traversing the terrain, searching for something or someone, fighting monsters, watching the sweat glisten on their muscles as they take down a mountain troll?”

“Viktor. What have you been reading?”

“Nothing! I’m just saying that’s more what it’s like.”

“You want to go on a journey with her?”

“Maybe…”

He burst out laughing. “You’re going to really have to start bulking up if you want to be Ivan, Viktor.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Go forth, Viktor. Rescue your damsel in distress. Tomorrow could be the start of your forever!”

“Er, right. I’ll do my best.”

 

The start of my forever.

I thought back to the Wishing Star and how it had led me to that banquet, the one that had let me meet Niko. I’d always had to fight and claw for everything I wanted, so I couldn’t expect winning someone over to be easy. The hearts of men were so fickle. I had to be brave and I had to work hard.

That was life and that was love.

I set the owl and cat on my nightstand, and they fit together with such ease that their dancing form looked natural. I envied them. They were old; ceramic paint cracked in some places, but still so beautiful and perfect. Truly meant for each other.

Once I was ready for bed and Makkachin was cozy in my comforter with me, I sent a text to remind Niko to touch base, and nestled in. The day and all its anxieties had left me so exhausted. While I waited for a reply from Niko, I gazed at the salt and pepper lovers, imagining them dancing in the light from my window to keep myself awake.

 

_And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,_

_They danced by the light of the moon_

 

_…_


	21. Tiger People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor cranks up the charm to capture his prey and finds that he's impossible to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Hurray, another bundle! I'm sorry for the content within this... but if you've been reading NLA, none of it should be a surprise. What IS a surprise, though, is that announcement for the YOI movie! [Ice Adolescence, whaaat!](https://twitter.com/gabapple/status/1014698621709611009) I'm excited. Also, I can't believe there is official artwork of the boys in Cossack costume now! Talk about coincidental timing, right? It's insane!
> 
> As always, thanks to Mamodewberry for her support and beta, Squeeze for the proofing, and to all of you for your continued support! I hope you enjoy. :)
> 
>  **Bonus Fanart:**  
>  SilanaMisha drew the scene of [Vitya doing Gosha's makeup from the last bundle!](https://twitter.com/SilanaMisha/status/995128284089323521) ;A; precious  
> Quel did a beautiful [Vitya and Makkachin,](https://twitter.com/quelmdn/status/1001118385206448129) too... ahh his little service dog vest :') 
> 
> Thank you so much!!! 
> 
> Oh, and I made a floor plan for Vitya's dorm room, which you can see [here.](https://gogoichirin.tumblr.com/post/176387271973/another-floor-plan-this-time-its-vityas-dorm)
> 
> **Vitya's Playlist:**  
> [Life is Rosy - Jess Penner](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mIyeZDeci7c)

* * *

 

I met Niko downtown for lunch, even though we were going to be shopping for clothes later. Somehow he didn’t think that was a problem. Did he have a tailor? Or maybe he never had to worry about his figure.

It was probably the latter, since he ordered pelmeni and nothing else. Not even a salad.

“It’s what I always get,” he said. “They’re my favorite.”

I turned to my half order, and the side salad that came with it. None of which I paid for. Definitely a date. I couldn’t wait to tell Georgi. “Really?”

Niko skewered a doughy dumpling on the end of his fork, sliding it from its greasy place on the plate to the dish of sour cream for dipping. “Yeah. I wish I could eat nothing but pelmeni for the rest of my life.”  

I watched him chew, which is a weird thing to do, but I couldn’t help it. The dill on his lips was both distracting and somehow fascinating. He didn’t seem to notice. Just ate.

He really did like pelmeni.

So much that he ate all twelve of his and three of mine. Which was fine. I didn’t have much of an appetite; I was too nervous, even with Makkachin under the table, pressed against my leg.

When he was finished, we went to the mall. It wasn’t far from the canteen, and Niko said he’d been ordered to take me there.

“Mom says we’ll find everything we need at these department stores,” he said, showing me the list Tetya Olya had texted him. “Sorry we’re stuck doing this. I hate shopping for clothes.”

I shook my head. “That’s okay. It’s… just nice spending time with you, Niko.”

He flushed, and the color was so charming on his pallor. “Uh.”

Smiling, I pushed ahead to the store first on our list. “So I need a suit, right?”

“Uh. Right.”

I led the way.

My aunt had taken me to places like this before. Not often, and not without a lot of complaining about costs- _things were always so hard after the collapse of the Soviet Union, you know!_ -but there had been occasions when second hand wouldn’t do, so I knew my way around. Window shopping with Georgi had definitely helped, too, since he knew what kinds of things were _nice._ I took one look around and headed for the suits.

“Is it okay to bring a dog into the store?” Niko asked, well past when he should have if it were actually going to be an issue.

Makkachin looked up at him, sweet and innocent like any good dog should, padding along at our side.

“He’s fine.” I hoped. “He has his vest on.”

“If you say so.”

“I’ve been in lots of stores with him and no one’s said anything. He’s a really good dog. Aren’t you, Makkachin?”

Makka wagged his tail. Of course he was.

Niko frowned. “I guess.”

I tried to shrug it off and instead started to paw through the long line of suit jackets. “So what do I need, anyway?”

“A suit?”

“Okay. Yes. But what pieces?”

Niko looked up from his phone. “The… what?”

What was so interesting on his phone when I was right there, in person? I had to get his attention back. I took a jacket from the rack and held it up. “What do you think? Would this look good on me?”

He blinked, then squinted. “I… I don’t know. I guess?”

“How do you normally do this?”

“Mom usually picks some out and then I have to try them all on until something works.”

“Oh.” I turned back to the jackets, then cast the most sultry glance that I had ever attempted before in my life back at the boy, batting my long, dark lashes. “Could you help me? Maybe pick a few things out that I can try on?”

Niko stared at me, the pink on his cheeks getting darker and darker as a testament to my efforts, and rewarded me with a startled nod. “Uh. Okay. Sure,” he said, stuffing his phone back into his pocket where it belonged. “Do you know your sizes and stuff?”

“Yes.”

“We can start there… um. Yeah. Let’s go with that.”

He picked a few things out, and sat with Makkachin and my backpack while I tried them on in the little dressing room. I’d been forced to wear enough formalwear enough times for the academy to know how to put the pieces together, but it didn’t stop me from asking for help once I found one that I really liked. “Hey Niko?”

“Yeah?”

“How does this…  I don’t actually know how to tie a tie.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” Only sort of a lie. My knots were just really bad.

“You don’t have to wear a tie if you’re just trying on a suit, Mish— ah, Vitya.”

I frowned and opened the door just enough to pout at him. “But I want the full effect.”

Sighing, he got up. “Okay, come out.”

“I can’t. You have to come in here.” I stepped back to make room. “Don’t peek.”

“Huh?”

I tugged on his wrist and pulled him into the dressing room, which definitely wasn’t big enough for two adults, but comfortably fit the two of us just fine. At least, I thought so. I smiled up at him and handed him the ends of the tie around my neck. “Here.”

Niko rubbed the ends in his fingertips. “I don’t think you’re supposed to…with ties. I mean, we’re supposed to buy it first.”

“Oh really?”

He frowned again, looking the rest of me over- noticing then that I had failed to put on the slacks that he’d picked out. “You’re not wearing any…”

I grinned. “Tie? I know, that’s what you’re helping me with.”

It was too funny to watch him fumble with it. We were in such a nice, close space. I simply smiled at him while he got more and more flustered.

“I… don’t think I know how to do this on someone else,” he finally admitted.

“Okay, let’s do this, then.” I took it off of myself and looped it around his neck, adjusting the length, and then putting his hands back on it- lest he notice that I knew what I was doing. “There. You do that, then we’ll just slip it off of your head and put it on me.”

“...Right.” He tied the tie around his own neck, and though it was sloppy, he managed to fix it a little once he got it back on me. “You might want to get a clip-on if you don’t know how, though. I had one for a long time.”

That somehow didn’t surprise me. I pulled locks of my hair free from the completed ensemble, then checked the length to my wrists. It didn’t cover to my fingertips, but it was a good fit. “What do you think?” I asked, turning in the mirror.

“You still need slacks.”

“I _guess._ But wouldn’t I get more sponsors this way? Skaters have the best legs, you know.”

Niko coughed. “We left your dog out there.”

No fun. “Oh, right. I’ll try the pants on real quick, then. Thanks for your help.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He slid past me to the door, then looked back again. “Can I take a photo for Mom? She’ll want to see the suit.”

Somehow I didn’t think she would want to see my bare legs, even if my underwear was covered. But if Niko wanted one for the road, that didn’t seem like a bad thing to _me._ “Sure.” I stood back against the corner for him, legs crossed at the ankles for a little more curve, and smiled. “Cheese!”

He snuck out afterward while I tried on the trousers. They fit just fine with a belt, and I looked pretty nice, if a bit too masculine. The shoulders were just a touch too broad for my taste, too, but maybe it was more of a power move. I took a photo for myself, then changed back into my street clothes. It was fun while it had lasted.

Makkachin jumped to his feet when he saw me, tail wagging hard, and Niko abandoned his phone at once.

“What do you want to try on next?” he asked.

“I think this suit will work.” I gestured to the clothes draped over my arm. I’d left the rest abandoned in the dressing room. “Don’t worry.”

“Mom didn’t give me a limit on spending… and she wanted you to expand your wardrobe.”

“Really?!”

“I’ll help you pick some things out to try on.”

 

Georgi.P: WOW

Georgi.P: that’s a lot of clothes

Georgi.P: SUGAR MAMA

Me: hey it’s not like that

Me: I just really needed some new clothes since I don’t fit into any of my old ones

Georgi.P: generous girlfriend

Me: she’s not my girlfriend

Georgi.P: yet ;)

Georgi.P: but it WAS a date

Me: yes :)

Me: ...I think

Me: sort of

Georgi.P: did she kiss you

Me: no

Me: but she definitely peeked at my butt in the dressing room

Georgi.P: wowow!

Georgi.P: wait what was she doing in the dressing room with you

Me: I needed help with my tie …

Georgi.P: that still doesn’t make sense

Georgi.P: viktor ;)))

Me: anyway she wants to see me again tomorrow

Georgi.P: tomorrow’s the day :)))

Georgi.P: get your lover, viktor

Georgi.P: you can do it

 

It almost seemed possible. I’d taken a taxi home again, courtesy of Niko, though Makkachin and I rode by ourselves— there was no way I could have carried all of the clothes we bought on the train. It had all been so nice. Shameless, maybe, with the way Niko had started to invite himself into the dressing room to ‘help’ with the outfits.

Not that I minded; I was so used to dressing in front of others in locker rooms and behind stages that it wasn’t a big deal, even if this felt so different. Niko liked what he saw, though. That much was clear.

And he had suggested the Sunday outing.

I would make my move. It was close. So close. He was nearly mine. I never could have dreamed that it would go so well.

 

The next morning, I woke to my phone buzzing on the nightstand before my alarm. Makkachin rolled over and stretched at my side, yawning a mouth full of puppy breath right in my face.

“Makka,” I groaned, and reached past him for my cell.

He wagged his tail, endlessly pleased with himself.

 

n.y: where are we meeting today?

 

A text from Niko.

I rolled onto my back and let out a long, wistful sigh. So _this_ was what it felt like to be wanted. Amazing.

Makkachin wedged his nose under my arm and wriggled under my hand to get his morning pets while I worked on a reply. Georgi and I had been to so many places over the summer, but what would be the _best_ thing? What was most likely to leave the greatest impression? A movie was probably too strong, and Niko would lose interest in a museum. Shopping was right out; I wasn’t going to push my luck with any more of that.

Hmm.

 

Me: want to go to the zoo?

n.y: sure, I guess. I’m having lunch with my mom but I’m free after

n.y: 2pm?

Me: great, I’ll meet you in front of the lion statue, you can’t miss it!

 

The extra time meant I could put a lot of effort into looking as cute as possible. Niko was definitely one of _those guys_ , and though he’d shown some interest, it wasn’t going to hurt to go the extra mile to help things along. With the things that Niko had picked out for me to wear, though, I didn’t think he would mind.

Not everything had come from the men’s department, after all.

By the time Makkachin and I left for the zoo, I almost didn’t recognize myself. The look was definitely still _me,_ but infinitely more bold than I would normally wear in public. It was hanging out with Lilia bold. Eyeshadow and lipgloss bold. Long locks of hair so perfectly curled and styled in place with a high ponytail bold.

I was practically begging to get my ass kicked, but I really, really wanted a boyfriend.

My aunt simply stared as we trotted out the door with my bag unapologetically slung over one shoulder, sassy and confident.

 

Niko was late, but only by a few minutes. I waited by the lion, Makkachin at my ankles, and tried to think feminine thoughts. Which was hard, since I didn’t even know how to think masculine thoughts most of the time and I was _supposed_ to be a boy. So I examined my nails, which were looking a lot better since Lilia had yelled at me.

“Vitya?”

I glanced up as Makkachin began to politely wag his tail at our companion, and flashed a coy smile. “Oh, Niko! Hey. You can call me Mishka, you know. I think it’s really cute.”

“Okay...” He looked me up and down. “You look… different.”

“You like it?”

“Is this the stuff from yesterday?”

I pulled away from the lion and came to his side. He was taller than me, so it was easy to bump his arm with my shoulder- a simple, harmless gesture. “Yeah. You picked out some really nice pieces. Thank you.”

Flustered, he shook his head and started for the entrance. “Sure. It was Mom’s card, but… yeah.”

“Your good taste.”

“If you say so,” he said, then added after a thoughtful pause: “Mishka.”

 

Makkachin and I gave him the grand tour of the zoo, though Niko wasn’t paying nearly as much attention to the animals as I thought he probably should. That may have been because he was trying to figure me out. Maybe I’d pushed my feminine wiles a bit too far. Or maybe not far enough. I wasn’t sure. No one else seemed to notice, which, to me, was a great thing.

Maybe we looked like any normal, teenage couple out on a date. Maybe he could have held my hand and no one would have even said a word. Just the thought of it made me _ache!_ I wanted it so badly.

The zoo was crowded, as was expected on a summer weekend, so it took a while to see everything. We got snacks on the way, and took breaks so that Niko could rest. Unlike me, he didn’t spend his days dancing or skating or generally running around, so the long walk in the heat was a bit much. That at least left room for talking, and for being grateful that he hadn’t suggested a walking tour of the Saint Petersburg canals.

“Mishka…” Niko asked around the crackers he was eating. “Do you _like_ wearing women’s clothing?”

I blinked at him. At least the question was to the point. “Some, I guess. But it’s not because they’re _women’s;_ some just look nice, and some girls’ jeans just fit better. It’s all just denim in the end, anyway.”

He nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “Dresses, though?”

“No, not dresses.” I sighed. “I don’t wear dresses.”

“But you’re not… tran-”

I cut him off.

“Some people are like lions-” I gestured to the right, where the lions were basking in the sun just across the way. “-where the males have big manes and the girls don’t, right?”

Again, he nodded, following me that time. “Yeah…”

“And then some people are like tigers.” I nodded to the exhibit to our left. “Where it’s harder to tell, but they’re all just sexy and powerful. You know what I mean?”

Niko considered this for a few moments, gaze moving from the big cats, then to me, squinting. He frowned again. “Do you want to date a tiger or something, Mishka?”

“What? No, I- ugh. Never mind.”

Niko went back to his crackers with a confused shake of his head, and Makkachin touched his nose to my knee. I thought it was obvious that the tiger was _me,_ but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’d been wrong.

Maybe I wasn’t a tiger after all.

Makkachin nudged me, eyes wet and worried. Like he was telling me not to think like that.

Boys were just dumb. It was a universal truth.

“I’m hungry,” Niko offered a moment later.

“Yeah. The tigers were the end of the grand tour anyway. Let’s go.”

 

Niko found a place to get pelmeni again, and once we were done eating, we went for a walk in the nearby park with the promise of finding the hidden cafe.

It was still light out, but the tree cover offered plenty of shade and I kept close as the evening gradually crept in around us. Walking like this, alone and with so many trees, it was almost like being in an ancient forest. A prince and princess strolling together in the wood. I couldn’t help it; I got excited.

We eventually came upon a bench, and Niko took a seat with a sigh. “I don’t think coffee is worth this,” he muttered.

I sat next to him. Close, but not too close. “It’s still a nice night, though, isn’t it?”

He took in the scenery; nature and sunset, the two of us on the bench, Makkachin at our feet. I smiled at him, soft and vulnerable. “Yeah. I guess. It’s kind of weird not texting, though.”

I had to laugh at that. He wasn’t wrong. Niko _was_ different in person. “It is. Not bad, though, right?”

“No. Not bad.”

“That’s good.”

We both went quiet, and the insects of summer filled in the gaps that our silence left. Georgi would have said to make my move. It was probably the perfect time. Maybe the _only_ time. He would be going back to Moscow in the morning. If I didn’t act now, I’d lose my chance. School would start, and he’d probably find a girlfriend sooner or later.

“So…” I finally broke the silence, brushing hands over the thighs of my jeans like I was wiping off dust. “I really like you and, I dunno…”

“What?” Genuine surprise. Confusion. Curiosity.

I pushed on. “Will you…” The words caught in my throat, and I had to force another breath to keep going. It wouldn’t do me any good to be coy now; I had to be confident. Direct. Shifting on the bench to face him, I looked him square in the eye and gave him my sweetest, most sincere doe eyes. “Would you be my boyfriend?”

Niko blinked, staring at me for several seconds before he said anything. “Mishka…”

It didn’t sound good.

“Yeah?”

But I dared to hope.

“I’m not gay.”

Even though I’d known that he was going to say it, and I’d heard him say as much over text no less than a hundred times before, it still hurt. But he was wrong, too. That made it worse. I never fell for straight guys. He had flirted with me. For months.

 _And_ he’d checked out my butt.

There was no way that he wasn’t at least a little bit gay. And even if he was straight, it didn’t matter, because I wasn’t exactly a boy, anyway.

I laughed. “I’m not, either. So it’s fine.”

“What?” More shock. “How does that work?”

Instead of going into the specifics, I shrugged. “You’ll be my boyfriend, and I’ll be your… whatever. See? Not gay.”  

Whether Niko understood what I meant or not, I wasn’t sure, but it only took a couple of seconds before he was blushing and mumbling out a few ums and uhs, finally settling on a shrug and a “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Perfect.”

First date achieved. Boyfriend status obtained. All that was left was a kiss.

It must have been on his mind, too, because we both took stock of our surroundings then. No one in sight, good. Back to Niko.

I leaned in.

He leaned in.

I stopped and waited, so did he.

I gave him a little smile to be encouraging, tilting my head just so like they always do in movies. He did the same back at me, but didn’t take initiative.

“...are you going to kiss me?” I asked, my lips almost brushing his, we were that close.

“Uh. I thought _you_ were going to kiss _me._ You’re the athlete… and a tiger, da?”

I leaned back, sitting properly on the bench once more. “Just because I’m competitive doesn’t mean that I’m aggressive… tiger or not. And either way, I don’t want to have to initiate _everything.”_

Niko smiled. A real smile. “You’re really cute when you pout like that, Mishka,” he said, and before I could argue, he leaned in and gave me my very first kiss.


	22. The End of Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgi is surprised to find out how Viktor's date went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vitya's Playlist:**   
>  [Children's Reform Center - Rasputina](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uds_1auytpA)

A boyfriend. 

I had a boyfriend. 

Nikodim Yermolai. Niko. The boy. He was mine and I was his. He’d kissed me. 

Yeah, it was awkward, and yeah, it was quick, but it was real. It actually happened.  _ He _ kissed  _ me _ and then laughed when I’d stared at him in a daze. 

It was all over. Any hope of playing it cool was completely gone. He knew, right then, just how bad I had it, and that I was nothing more than a blushing idiot. 

But he liked me. 

And that was nice. 

 

“Goodnight, Mishka,” he said when I dropped him off at the hotel. I would be taking the train back without him. “I’ll see you in Moscow.”

 

I would see my boyfriend again in Moscow, when Coach and I would be visiting. Just one month. Hardly any time at all, especially between school and the cups of the Junior Grand Prix. 

I could hardly sit still, which made it hard to keep everything a secret from my aunt and uncle. But at least they were easily persuaded to think that it was just going on a trip as a guest that had me vibrating out of my skin. 

 

“Okay, spill it, Viktor! It’s been hours and I’ve been waiting!” 

“Calm down.” 

“I can’t! Your text said you’d tell me at the rink and we’re here, so spill!” 

I couldn’t help it- I giggled. Even with one hand over my mouth, the happy little titters just bubbled up and escaped like some kind of obnoxious, cheerful vomit. I wasn’t normally this happy, but I didn’t want to stop it. 

“I’m going to take this as a good sign…”

I covered my face.

“Viktor! Please, you’re killing me!”

“Okay, okay, yes! I was successful!”

Georgi leaned closer. We were sitting on the bench with our skates on, but not tied. As long as they weren’t laced, we had an excuse to stay where we were.  _ “How _ successful? I know you went on a date.” 

I bit my lip. “A real one, yeah. And I’m…” How to word it? “In a relationship.”

He gasped. “And a kiss?”

I nodded, biting down hard to keep myself from screeching. 

“First kiss? Oh Viktor!” Georgi did plenty of screeching for me, grasping my arms. 

That broke me, and I joined in, speaking high and fast, words spilling over others in a frenzy. “I- I know! I know, right? It was so romantic. I can’t believe it. I have a… and… and…” 

“Georgi! Vitya!” Coach’s voice cut through our bubbly enthusiasm with a sledgehammer. “What are you doing? Get back to practice!” 

“Oh, but Coach! Viktor was just telling me the good news.” 

Confused by Georgi’s defense, Coach came to us, arms folded, and turned an impatient stare down at me. Waiting for an explanation. 

“I, uhm.” My giddiness hadn’t lapsed, though I was starting to feel a lot more sheepish. “Went on a date last night… and got my first kiss.”

Georgi squeezed my arm, his smile even bigger and brighter than mine. So proud, so happy for me. All his hard work come to fruition. He was such a good friend. 

Even Coach couldn’t resist a small smile at seeing that. “With the Yermolai boy?”

Oh.

I froze. Instant shock like the day I’d fallen through the ice. 

Oh no.

In four little words, the spell was broken. A simple question that ruined everything. Not that Coach knew- how could he? I hadn’t explained any of it to him. I hadn’t even begun to figure out how, or if I should. 

People weren’t supposed to lie to their friends. 

I’d had all summer to explain to Georgi. To open up. To come clean. 

All I had to offer was a tight and quiet, “Uhm.” 

Georgi laughed, taking my embarrassment for something else entirely. “No! Viktor’s got a girlfriend, Coach!”

I looked at Coach and he looked at me before our eyes cut away. To discuss this in public was like trying to force two polar magnets together; it was uncomfortable and dangerous and no one liked playing at it except for the sadistic and the ignorant who hadn’t been hurt before. 

Coach took over, understanding. “Oh,” he said. “I see. My mistake.” 

“He’s not gay.” Though still chuckling, Georgi’s voice was less confident now. He was ready to have it confirmed and the conversation back on track, status quo in check. “Right, Viktor?”

I said nothing, just shrugged. I wasn’t going to lie about it. Not anymore. I wasn’t  _ gay, _ but I liked boys. Only boys. Which probably meant the same thing to most people. Georgi might have been a witch, but that didn’t mean he would get that I was a princess. They were two entirely different things. 

And I knew full well that I could accept him without him accepting me. It happened all the time. 

Georgi’s laughter had gone, replaced with something like concern. He was nervous. “...right, Viktor?”

He had asked for me to trust him, but I knew then that it wasn’t going to work. Even if he did accept me, Georgi still had his family to deal with. They were traditional. I knew they would never be okay with it, and that would just make Georgi’s life harder. 

It was best for us both to end it now. 

Sever it before it got too painful, for his sake and mine. 

Clean slate.

“He was really sweet, Coach,” I said, owning the truth as I tied the last knot in my laces and got to my feet. “It all worked out.” 

I didn’t even look at Georgi as I turned away, moving coldly for the barrier, removing my guards, and stepping out onto the ice. 

That was it. The end of summer. 

I had Niko, but I felt more alone than ever before.

 

Me: i miss you

n.y: Mishka

n.y: it’s okay 

Me: you’re still my boyfriend, right?

n.y: do you think that would have changed in three days?

Me: i don’t know 

Me: maybe 

Me: has it?

n.y: you’re going to run out of text messages again at this rate, Mishka 

Me: the month is almost over, it’ll reset

n.y: yes, I’m still your boyfriend

Me: ypa :))))

n.y: I’ll kiss you again in Moscow 

 

I spent my last few days of freedom from the academy doing nothing but packing. Even though I hadn’t brought much home, it’d all managed to sneak out and integrate itself into my room and the rest of the house. Hunting for and packing my new clothes, plus all of Makkachin’s stuff, took forever. 

The morning I was supposed to go back, my aunt came to stand in my bedroom door while I was trying to get my suitcase to shut again. She and my uncle were taking me back to Vaganova two days early to help me switch rooms. Since Makkachin was going to be my new roommate, Feliks would be assigned someone else.

“Vitya, I have something for you.” 

“Did you find Makka’s duck?” 

She looked back at my uncle, who retreated down the hallway to look for it. “No. But we…” 

Makkachin and I both gave her our attention then, heads tilting one way, then the other, which made her smile. Which was nice, because she almost looked like she was going to cry.

“Auntie?”

“You’re so cute, Vitya,” she said, and held up a blue gift bag with white bones printed on it. “Here. For the new semester.” 

“A gift?” I went to her. She’d never given me anything for school before; all of my supplies were covered by the Academy itself, government funded. “For Makkachin?”

“No. For you. Go on, open it.”

I took it from her and pawed through the tissue paper for what turned out to be an assortment of poodle paraphernalia- poodle notebook, poodle pencils, poodle pajamas, a poodle plush… “This looks just like Makkachin!”

“I know. Do you like it? Your uncle found it.”

“I love it!” I brought it all to show Makkachin, laying it out on top of my suitcase, and he sniffed in appreciation. “Makka does, too!”

“It’s been a while since I’ve made pajamas. You don’t have to wear them, but Klava and Lyuba always seemed to like them.”

“I’ll wear them,” I promised. The fabric was soft and fleecy. It would be great for the hotels, especially. “You made them just for me?”

“Who else would I make poodle pajamas for, if not my favorite nephew?”

It was almost enough to make  _ me _ cry. “Thank you, Auntie.”

“You’re welcome, Vitya. I can make more, too, if you like them. And other things… I have plenty of fabric left over.”

Her stare was so intense, like she was trying to say more than she was. Did she know? About Niko? Or about what had happened over the summer? I was almost tempted to tell her. Maybe she would have accepted me in that moment.

Fortunately, my uncle came in just then. 

“Don’t worry! I found his duck! We can go now.”

Makkachin lept from the bed and ran to my relatives, tail wagging. 

“Whew! He would be really upset if we didn’t have it.”

My aunt sighed, but smiled. “Good, then. Let’s get you packed in the car.” 

 

Vaganova was just like I left it. If Makkachin remembered it from the photoshoot or the workshops, he didn’t let it show. He’d been smaller then, though, and had never been in the dormitories. We packed up my room and moved it upstairs. Makkachin would be less of a distraction there, they said, for the new boys just starting.

“And more privacy for you, Vitya, which may be useful to avoid… questions.” 

I took the bed on the left standing from the door, like always, and told Makkachin he could have the roommate bed. Makkachin immediately curled up on mine, of course, but I didn’t mind. He and the plush Makka looked very cute together with my pillows and quilts and Albert. It was very cozy and cheerful, a  _ café au lait _ pup in a room painted like sunshine. 

My aunt and uncle hugged and kissed me goodbye, and asked that I check in once in awhile- at least more often than I had before -and left. 

It felt so grown up, being back down town in my own room, all on my own. I would still share a bathroom with some other boys, but here I was, fifteen, soon to be sixteen, with a dog of my own, and a boyfriend, a serious skating career, and… 

Well.

I was just all around doing pretty great for a princess of Saint Petersburg. 

 

Georgi.P: hey are you okay?

Georgi.P: look I just wanted to say that I was sorry for how I reacted

Georgi.P: it’s okay, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings

 

That night, lying in bed with Makkachin, wearing my poodle pajamas, I listened past the Saint Petersburg traffic outside my window to the sound of the canal. The water had always been so soothing, and made it easier to think.

I had all of summer on my mind, and I didn’t want to let it go. 

But I didn’t really have a choice. It would end and winter would come whether I wanted it to or not.

 

Georgi.P: can we still be friends?

 

Everyone loved Makkachin. So much so that they almost didn’t care about his vest. It was pretty well established early on that Makkachin was my assistant because  _ something _ had happened over the summer, but no one was supposed to ask about it directly. They whispered, of course, but I was used to ignoring that already. Makkachin stayed close when he could, and dozed in corners when he couldn’t. 

We took regular trips outside between classes, which was great for avoiding people. But somehow, Feliks still found us. 

“Vitya! There you are… I was so worried when I saw you’d moved out; I thought you’d quit Vaganova.” 

He was even bigger than he’d been before the break, and the girl on his arm was different, too. The smile on his face was just the same, though.

“Nope, I’m still here.”

“Why’d you change rooms, then? Are we not friends anymore?” He looked hurt, hand over his chest like he was in actual pain. “Was it the relationship advice about the-”

“No!” I was quick to cut him off. “No, no, nothing like that. They had to move me into a different room ‘cause of Makkachin.”

“Makkachin?”

Makka, who had been busy sniffing the grass behind me, came around my legs to say hello, tail wagging. 

“A dog!” Feliks was a quick one, all right. 

“Yeah. He and I share a room upstairs, now. Sorry, Feliks.”

“Oh, it’s so cute,” the girlfriend cooed. 

Feliks crouched and offered his hand, which Makkachin sniffed and licked after some careful consideration. “Everything’s okay, Vitya?” He gave me a significant glance, nodding at the vest.

“With his help, yeah. Stuff…” I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. 

“You don’t have to explain.” Feliks ruffled Makkachin’s ears and neck. “I’m glad that you’ve come back to Vaganova!” 

The girlfriend knelt to pet Makkachin, too, and Feliks moved to let her while I watched. He wagged his tail harder, licking both of their hands like a silly young pup. Makkachin really liked them. 

So did I. 

“Oh, that’s right. This is Verochka. We ran into each other over the summer… I’m sure that I’ll marry her, Vitya!”

“Feliks!” She laughed, punching his shoulder. “You haven’t even officially proposed yet.”

“Yet, yet. That’s the key word. Yet!”

Makkachin sat down to watch them banter, and I did, too, reaching to coddle my dog’s fleecy fur while the lovebirds did their thing. I sort of knew what it was like now. Would Niko and I ever get to that point? 

Proposal… marriage…  

It wasn’t even possible for us, but somehow, the notion of it was so romantic, I couldn’t help but want it anyway. Oh, I really,  _ really _ wanted to get married. 

“Vitya, that starry look in your eye… how did it go with your crush? Any progress over the summer?” 

I startled, and immediately shook my head. 

“He’s blushing, Feliks! You were right, he’s such a cute little kroshka.”

“I think he’s grown up some, actually.” 

Rolling my eyes, I got up and took Makkachin’s leash. “Okay, that’s enough.” 

“Oh yes, you really have, Vitya! Look how tall you are!”

“See you around, Feliks.”

“Don’t give up on your love, Vitya. I’m sure you’ll find your perfect match one day!” 


	23. Good Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor skates in the Cup of Mexico with his brand new programs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vitya's Playlist:**   
>  [Carousel - Sam Tsui](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEhNelYeJ1Q)

GoshaPopowitch: i really hope you’re okay, Viktor 

 

By the time the balloons from the first day of classes had withered and died, Makkachin and I had everything worked out. Routine was essential, the therapists said, for keeping my dog happy. I think they really meant that it would keep  _ me _ happy, but I liked pretending that it was for Makkachin’s benefit. 

Every day, we got up way too early and went on a run along the canal. Makkachin got to mark his territory and I got to have plenty of fresh air and thinking time before we went back to the dorms. There, Makka would nap while I snuck in a private shower before the other boys woke up. 

If I hurried, I had just enough time to check my messages in case Niko had written to me in the night (he liked staying up late) before going to breakfast. 

After that, I had my regular block of academic classes, peppered with ballet and piano, language, and character acting in the afternoon. Since it was the start of the competitive season, I had skating three times a week, with rehearsals on the weekends, homework in the evenings, and the rest of the time devoted to taking Makkachin out and talking to Niko. There wasn’t _ much _ time left, but I treasured every sweet second of it.

 

n.y: don’t bother

n.y: if he’s going to make you think he’s your friend and then freak out when he finds out that you’re 

n.y: different

n.y: then you don’t need him in your life

n.y: he’s probably just jealous anyway

Me: I’m pretty sure he’s straight, Niko 

n.y: so am I 

n.y: don’t reply to him, Mishka 

n.y: he doesn’t deserve you

 

It didn’t sit well with me, but I hadn’t even figured out  _ how  _ to reply to Georgi, either. Even though he’d apologized, it wasn’t fine and things weren’t okay. He hadn’t even really done anything. It wasn’t his fault that I was whatever I was. It wasn’t his fault that his family would freak out if they knew.

There was nothing I could think of to say that would have helped. Nothing he could have said in response that would have fixed it. No solution I could come to. 

So I didn’t reply at all. 

Thankfully, school for me meant school for Georgi, too, and since we were in different divisions, our training schedules were completely different. I didn’t even have to try to avoid him because I didn’t even share the rink with him most of the time. 

Coach was a different story, but I needed to talk to him about the gala. Our first competition was in two weeks, the gala in three. It would be tight. But Tetya Olya was my sponsor, and it was just over a weekend, so hopefully Coach would be willing.

I went straight to his office for the early Saturday morning session to be sure that we could discuss it alone. After knocking once, I let myself in. “Coach?”

“Vitya, ah,” Coach motioned for me to sit, but I didn’t. “I wanted to speak with you.”

“Here,” I muttered, not giving him a chance to speak as I shoved the envelope at him. “Tetya Olya invited us to a fancy gala thing in Moscow. We’re supposed to go as her guests.”

He stood, but didn’t take it. The envelope stayed between us, untouched by his hand, his gaze trained on my face. “Vitya…” 

“She said she’d pay for airfare and hotel, or we can stay at their house. They have rooms.”

“Vitya, please listen. I didn’t know that Georgi didn’t-“

I raised my voice to smother his measured composure. “I’m supposed to deliver the invitation, Coach, so take it!” 

His eyes never left mine as his fingers pinched the thick, off-white sleeve, and pulled it from my grip. But before I could turn away from him, he reached for me. “I want to talk this over.”

My arm was like a little twig in his meaty bear paw, and the weight behind his stare was that of a mountain. But I wasn’t just a boy, I was a princess, and I wasn’t intimidated by all of that. 

I didn’t struggle, just let out my breath. “What, Coach?”

“I thought, with all the time you had spent around Georgi, that he would have known about the boy… you two seemed close. If I’d known-“

I forced a little smile. Thin. Plastic. “It’s fine, Coach.”

“Eh?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I know you’re upset, but Georgi is a  _ good _ boy, I’m sure that he understands.”

“Coach, it doesn’t  _ matter _ that he’s a ‘good boy.’ If anything, that makes it worse. Do you know what happens to ‘good boys’ when they hang around people like me?” 

Coach said nothing, words caught in his throat. 

“He has a normal family, Coach. A family that moved here ‘cause he’s supposed to be the best skater, the pride of Russia. He can’t associate with me. I’ve met his parents. I’ve seen what they’re like.”

“Vitya…”

“Georgi’s got enough of his own issues without being friends with a boy who likes other boys. His parents would kill him. I don’t want that on my hands. Do you?” 

The snap left Coach staring, speechless and a little pale. I had to admit I was a little proud of shocking him, but felt sick at the same time. When he said nothing, I sucked in a breath, shuddered, and forced myself to calm down before speaking again. “This is better for everyone, okay?”

A silence followed, broken only by my ragged breaths as I tried to stay calm. Outside, Makkachin paced by the door, whining. Anxious. 

“You aren’t alone, Vitya.”

Coach was frowning at me.

I waited for him to elaborate, shoving hands in my pockets. 

“You seem to keep forgetting this fact, but you aren’t.”

I shuffled my feet on the hard wooden floor of his office and watched one of my shoe laces gather dust bunnies like a little leash. It’d come untied. “I know I’m not,” I said, though honestly, I had no idea if I was just lying again. 

Coach put his arms around me, and I heard the rustle of the envelope at my back, paper on the smooth material of my jersey. He held me there, tight and secure, and said nothing. At first I wondered if maybe it was to serve a point- get me to admit that he’d always been there or he wouldn’t release me from a headlock -and found myself listening to his breathing, and then his heartbeat, strong and consistent. Like he was. 

Like he’d always been. Like he was saying.

And it was too much. 

I cried. 

I cried, and he didn’t let go until I was done crying, even though it was stupid, and I’d done it way too many times in the past few months. But that was how it was with Coach. He always took care of me.

When I was done, I was tired and miserable. “Sorry, Coach.”

“Me, too.” And then he smiled, and I saw that he’d cried a little, too, maybe. “You can tell me anything, Vitya. You know this, da?”

I put my head back on his shoulder and sighed. I  _ could _ tell him anything, but that didn’t mean I  _ should. _ As much as I loved Coach, and as much as I wanted to confide in him, there were some things better left unsaid. That was how it had always worked… and it would be even more important going forward. 

I shook my head, forcing another little smile. “Yeah, I know. I know, Coach. Sorry.” Then I forced another sigh. “Uh. So about… about Moscow? You’ll… go with me, right?”

“To see this boy?”

I blushed. 

“I see.” His grin grew wider.

“It’s… it’s to see Tetya Olya!”

“Of course. So tell me about this boyfriend of yours, Vitya.”

“What?  _ Now? _ ”

“Coach needs to know about his skaters.”

Okay, so I really did want to tell him. At least a little bit. And it wasn’t like Coach didn’t already know that I’d been texting Niko. And that I was crazy about him. And that I thought he was really cute. 

_ Tree sticks. _

I was really bad at this.

“Well?” He nudged me.

I frowned, the color spreading to my ears. “Niko… he… uh… I dunno, Coach! He… he’s just really cute and we went shopping and to the zoo and he kissed me and- and! And!” I whined. My voice was still squeaky. “I think I’m in love, okay?!”

He laughed and he hugged me again, rubbing my back while I squirmed and complained. “Vitya. You’re growing up. Getting tall.”

I stopped moving. “Huh?” Feliks had mentioned it earlier, but come to think of it, since when could I just rest my head on his shoulder? 

“It’s a good thing. I’m happy for you. I just don’t want to miss it.”

 

We worked hard to refine my routines before the first leg of the Junior Grand Prix competition, which for me was the Mexico Cup, but I found it hard to be too nervous about it. My ambitious short program and story-driven free skate were nothing to the prospect of staying at my boyfriend’s house for a weekend. 

“Don’t forget that his mother is your sponsor, Vitya.” That was Coach’s attempt to keep me focused, and it didn’t work at all. 

If anything, I was more nervous, more distracted. 

Poor Makkachin stayed close, pacing and snuggling, nosing and nudging, but he could only do so much! Dogs weren’t allowed on ice rinks any more than they were on dance floors, and he wasn’t going to be cleared for air travel any time soon, service dog or not. He wasn’t old enough and he didn’t have the licensing. I couldn’t stand the thought of him in quarantine, either. 

I’d have to leave him behind. 

My Makkachin. My anchor. My best friend. The best dog in the whole universe! Not only my companion, but my brother and my son and my partner in crime and confidante! What would I do without him?! 

He laid his head in my lap, gazing up at me, fretting on my behalf. Poor Makka.

I had to be strong for him, and come back in one piece. 

I had to get the gold. 

 

“Do you have everything ready for the flight tomorrow?” 

“I think so.” I usually packed pretty light for competitions, especially since my costumes were already in Coach’s care. Though we would be in Mexico a few days, the chances of us actually leaving the hotel and doing much were slim. I was just there to skate and rest.

“Including homework?”

Groaning, I slipped the latch so I could start repacking yet again. “Coach, come  _ on!” _

“You know the rules, Vitya. Have your relatives come to pick up Makkachin, or are we taking him to be boarded?”

“Feliks said he’d dogsit while I’m gone.”

“Is that so?”

“Makka really likes Feliks and Verochka- that’s his girlfriend.”

Makkachin wagged his tail as soon as his name was mentioned, though he didn’t look happy. He had curled up by the door, head on his paws, looking quite forlorn. He knew that I was leaving. It was breaking my heart. 

“Are you paying them?”

“No… they said that they wanted to pretend to be married or something, so they’re borrowing Makkachin and going on long, romantic walks together.” I groaned. “Weird, right?”

Coach didn’t think it was all that strange, and steered the conversation back. “I’m glad that’s taken care of. It’ll be fine, and we’ll be back before you- or he -knows it.”

“I know…” 

 

I cried when I hugged Makkachin goodbye, and I kissed his nose, his forehead, and both of his ears before I left. Feliks was nice enough not to say anything about it, and Coach took my suitcase from me so I could hide my face. 

“Be good, Makkachin. I’ll be back soon. I love you.”

Makkachin wagged his tail and sat obediently at Feliks’s feet while I got in the car. 

I didn’t put his vest on him that morning because he was off duty until further notice. His being on vacation was my only solace as we drove away.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that I missed my dog way,  _ way _ more than I missed my boyfriend. 

 

Mexico City was nice, though. I didn’t get to see too much of it between the airport and the hotel, but I like what I did see. It was warm and green and it rained and rained and rained like it wasn’t going to stop, but then it did. Just like that. 

“I bet there are tropical birds here,” I told Coach in the cab drive over, but he just ignored me. 

We checked in, dropped off our stuff, did the opening ceremonies thing, and then Coach made me do homework until I was too tired to be alive anymore. Then, and only then, did we get to relax with some Soap Opera Megaverse, which I promptly slept through, even though it looked like an  _ amazing _ telenovela about lawyers. No fair. 

But it was probably a good thing. I would have missed Makkachin so much if I’d been given any time to think about it at all. I still missed him, but I’d fallen asleep too soon to get too sad about it. 

The next morning, I got up early to head to the business center and check my email so I’d have plenty of time to scope the competition, and found an email from Niko.

 

Mishka-

Mom says that she will be watching you skate. Make sure to do well. What could be sexier than confidence?

-N

 

I read it thirty or forty times before logging out of the computer, positively vibrating. He was right. He was totally right. Confidence was the most attractive, sexiest thing. Authentic confidence could step on me any time it wanted.  _ Yes, please _ . 

I would skate with everything that I had. I would get that gold. I would break records that even the seniors couldn’t ignore. 

Then I could go home to Saint Petersburg- to Makkachin -and tell him all about it.

 

* * * 

 

“Viktor Nikiforov! Your performance today was absolutely astounding! I don’t think anyone’s seen anything quite like that on the ice.”

“Uhm. Good. I did all the choreography on my own.”

“You did?”

“Yah. Coach helped make sure of safety, but I took care of… of…” 

“The dance elements? Step sequence?”

“Yah, all that.”

“Incredible. Your coach, Yakov Feltsman- who’s been in charge of the finest Russian skaters for the nearly the past  _ two decades _ -says that this was inspired by a traditional Russian dance. Is that right?”

“Yah. Cossack dance.”

“Does everyone learn it in Russia?”

“...I learned it at Vaganova.” 

“Vaganova is your ballet academy, yes?”

“Da!”

“Very good. Well, it seems like you’re in the lead for this cup of the Junior Grand Prix, with just the Free Skate to go. How do you feel about your competition here in Mexico City, Viktor?”

“Uhm…”

“Is there anyone that you’re keeping an eye on?”

“I’ve been too busy practicing to pay much attention…”

“Really?”

“I know there’s one... blond hair? I’m pretty sure I saw him. Maybe. And there’s someone here from Germany.”

“I see. Well it’s good to keep focused! Do you have something incredible planned for tomorrow, too?”

“Of course! I’m going to surprise everyone!”

“I’m sure you will. Thank you, Viktor. Good luck!”

“Spasibo !”

 

I almost killed myself for Moskau, but it was worth it. The short program score was insane, a personal best. Even better, the audience  _ adored _ it. Everyone got fired up. They screamed and stomped or clapped along. Some did both! Their cheers, their applause, the calls of  _ my name _ in  _ their voices _ was the most incredible thing. Me, alone. It wasn’t like the Wishing Star, with its sweet and melancholy pleading, drawing on their hearts and sympathy, but like wildfire, catching their energy, their smiles, their delight, and setting everything ablaze! They had fun. I had fun. I was breathless and so sore from the overextension, but no one could deny my charm. 

The judges certainly didn’t. 

I soaked in the tub back in our hotel room for an hour to ease the suffering, and made some adjustments to the choreography in my head for next time. It was only just starting to dawn on me why Coach said it was fine to start slower in the beginning of the season and reach your peak at the final. 

For the free skate, I let the music guide me through the routine, transforming me from the traditional Russian boy of the day before to the Mistress of the Mountain; a crystal guardian luring her prey deeper into the mountainside with sweet words and then… letting them go. 

This time. 

No one knew what to expect. Not of laybacks like that, or of opposite spins, or the effortless elegance in my jumps. Ballet had disciplined me well. I was a true princess on ice, and 

it was beautiful. Lilia would have been proud. 

 

I took gold for Russia, for Coach, for Makkachin, for Tetya Olya, for my mama, for Vaganova, for Niko, and for me. But Coach got to keep the medal, of course.

“Here,” I said, pressing it into his palm.

“You’re giving me another medal? Vitya, you don’t have to…”

“Sasha does it.”

“We have… a different arrangement.”

I pressed harder, and folded his other big bear paw over it for safekeeping. “First gold of every season is yours, Coach. I’ll get one for my next competition.”

He pried back his fingers and inspected it, giving himself time to consider my words. After tracing its bevelled edge three times, he folded the ribbon over and tucked it away in his pocket. “Thank you, Vitya. We’ll take this to Moscow to show Tetya Olya.”

Moscow. Moscow was next. 

 

After going home to my Makkachin. 


	24. Sugar, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Moscow for his sponsor's gala gives Viktor a chance to learn more about his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vitya's Playlist:**   
>  [I Believe In A Thing Called Love - The Darkness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZtcz4WVBGg)

When we got back, Feliks told me that Makkachin had been such a good dog- which was something that I already knew and expected -and that they would be happy to watch him any time I was out of town, at least for long weekend trips. Others might be harder to manage. But I never went anywhere beside competitions, anyway… except Moscow. 

Just one week until I’d see Niko again.

School went by in a blur. I was supposed to be paying attention, but I couldn’t. It was worse than if I had my next competition right in front of me. In a way, I kind of did. I had to be on my best behavior in Moscow, not only to impress Tetya Olya, and Niko, but for Coach, too. Everything I did reflected on him. And skating. And Russia. I had no idea who would be at the gala, but if it was anything like other banquets and benefits, I was probably in for a rough night.

 

We got to Moscow late Friday afternoon. It was a short flight, which was good, because I was still so nervous. I packed my best clothes and carried my suit onto the plane with me. 

Coach couldn’t stop chuckling. “Vitya, you’re so nervous.”

“I’m not.” It was a lie. 

“You are Viktor Nikiforov-”

“And I get what I want, I know, but ohygod, Coach. I just don’t want to mess up. What is this going to be like?”

“Like a banquet, I think.” He shook his head and helped with our suitcases. We’d packed light for the trip, even lighter than for competitions, since we’d only be there a couple of days, and we had no costumes or skating gear or anything to bring. 

I trotted after him through the terminal. “H-hey, do you think Makkachin is okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Do you think he misses me?”

“They’re waiting for us, Vitya.”

We hurried out to the curb where Tetya Olya, their driver, and Niko were waiting for us. 

“Oh, Vitya!” Tetya Olya came and hugged me tight. “You were so wonderful in Mexico! I’m so proud!” 

“I brought the medal to show you, too.” I hugged her back while looking to Coach for approval, which he gave with a nod. 

“I’m so excited to see it. Yasha, it’s so good to see you, too. Come, let’s get in the car, we should let you get settled in before dinner.” 

With Tetya Olya bustling to get everyone and everything into the car, I was finally able to give my greetings to Niko. Seeing him there, remembering all that he’d texted, I immediately felt the heat on my cheeks. “Hi, Niko.”

“Hello, Mishka.” 

What was I supposed to say next? I’d been so confident when we first met, and I could usually come up with  _ something _ when we texted, but the harder I tried to think, the further and further the words squirmed out of reach. But I couldn’t stand there doing nothing. 

“I…” 

“Vitya.” It was Coach. “Get in the car.”

For once, I was quietly obedient, and never more ashamed for it. 

 

We rode in quiet for the twenty minutes it took to get to Niko’s house. Tetya Olya sat in the front passenger seat so she could make business calls. I sat sandwiched between Coach and Niko because I was the smallest, but the car was big enough that it was comfortable nonetheless. I wanted to hold Niko’s hand, but even though I didn’t think Coach would have minded, Tetya Olya kept glancing back at us in the rear view mirror to smile and ask the occasional question.

She didn’t know about our relationship… and I really didn’t want her to find out. It was taboo enough without having to throw the whole ‘the son of my sponsor is my boyfriend’ factor into it. Georgi had already hinted at the sugar daddy thing, and I was not having any of it. No thanks.

I settled for leaning against his arm a little. He didn’t seem to mind.

Niko’s house was huge. A lot bigger than Georgi’s and even Lilia’s. I knew that Niko had siblings, but why they needed that much house, I couldn’t even guess. To let people stay over? It was as good a reason as any, I guessed. 

Coach told me to stop gawking as we were led through the house and taken to the guest rooms. 

“My oldest boys are away at college, so we have plenty of room right now,” Tetya Olya explained. “You two relax for a while and I’ll let you know when dinner is. Kodyasha will get you anything you need.”

“Thank you, Olya.” Coach then turned to me and Niko, giving us a glance over, and smiled. “I suppose I will relax in my room,” he said, and went inside, leaving us alone. 

It was a setup.

Once he was gone, and we’d both looked in the halls, we looked at each other again. It was different, seeing him there in front of me. Almost like a stranger, even though we talked every day. He’d told me so much about himself in text, but in the hallway, there was silence. 

It was almost like seeing a person’s costume in ballet or on the ice- which portrayed so much about their personality and inner thoughts -and then not, hiding all of that away. 

He smiled.

I smiled back. “Hi.”

“You said that already.”

“Oh. You’re right.” I hesitated. “Do you want to show me my room?”

“It’s right there.” 

So it was. And so were the cues that he wasn’t nearly as into all of this as I was. I could take a hint. “Ha, okay. Thanks, Niko. See you at dinner?”

He watched me try the handle, and I soaked up every bit of satisfaction at the surprised look on his face when I stepped through. 

“Uh. Okay.” 

I closed the door behind me, leaving Niko on the other side of it. 

It’d been the perfect opportunity to be alone with my new boyfriend after a month of being apart, and he’d  _ promised _ to kiss me. But there I was, standing alone in a bedroom with my suitcase. No kisses. Not even a hug. 

I left my luggage by the door and flopped down onto the neatly made guest bed, face first. I didn’t bother with the light, didn’t bother changing out of my clothes, or pulling back the blankets. I took a bunny nap right then and there, because that’s what I did when it hurt too much, and I couldn’t risk crying before dinner. 

I missed Makkachin. Not bringing him had been a mistake. He would have cuddled right up to me and licked my face and stayed as closed as he needed to until everything was better. Or at least until I could face it. 

Was I ever going to do anything without my dog ever again? 

 

Coach knocked on the door a little while later, and I guess traveling had worn me out a lot more than I thought, because I was  _ out. _ I only know he knocked because he said he did when he was nudging my shoulder, dragging me back to consciousness. I sat up, groggy, while he mumbled apologies.

“I thought you might have been with the boy,” he said. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but it’s time for dinner.”

I rubbed my eyes, yawned, and leaned against his shoulder. “Nope. Just me, Coach. Cripes, who do you think I am?”

“I think you are Vitya.” He got up. “Come, get ready.”

“...wait, what’s that supposed to mean?” 

He didn’t explain, leaving me to get ready.

I ‘freshened up’ and followed Coach and someone who I guess was a servant to dinner with Niko’s family. His papa was a lot like my uncle; busy on his phone and with the newspaper, always working on some kind of business thing, no real time for the rest of the table. It seemed to bother Niko a lot, which I completely understood. I probably looked just as distant and grumpy at dinner with my relatives. Then there was Tetya Olya and her two daughters, Anushka and Katyusha, who took turns grilling Coach and myself. 

They all loved skating for different reasons. Tetya Olya had always loved how graceful they were, and admitted that she had once dreamed of being an ice dancer as a young girl. Her youngest daughter, Katyusha actually liked to skate with her friends in the winter. 

But mostly, the two girls liked to watch the men. They liked boys much the same way I did and they wanted to know all about Sasha. And Georgi. 

And me.

At least their attention got Niko to notice.

“Vitya, your free skate this season… it’s so  _ beautiful!” _

“And the costume!

I blushed, pleased. “You like it?”

“It’s really sexy!”

“That black leather and sheer fabric, yum!”

“Girls, please.” Tetya Olya laughed. 

Niko changed how he was sitting, uncomfortable. I couldn’t blame him for that, either, but it was still kind of funny. 

“The program was inspired by  _ Mednoj gory hozjajka… _ so it’s supposed to be sexy. It’s okay.” I gave Niko a reassuring smile across the table, then looked back at the girls. “But it’s dangerous to get mixed up with that, you know.”

“Ooh, a bad boy.” 

They giggled, and Tetya Olya scolded them again. “Back to your career goals, though, Vitya… unless you’re planning to marry into the family?”

I choked. It had been the worst possible time to take a drink, but I’m pretty sure I would have choked even if I hadn’t. My first thoughts were ‘how did she find out?!’ and ‘is she okay with that?!’ before I realized that she was talking about her daughters, not Niko. By then, Coach was patting me on the back to get me to stop coughing, and the girls were laughing so loudly that their papa had stopped with his business to pay attention to them, asking what he’d missed.

It was Niko who answered, skewering another pelmeni onto his fork: “Mishka’s found himself a sugar daddy.”

 

We had cake Napoleon for dessert after dinner, and although Tetya Olya invited us to talk, Coach suggested I turn in early for homework and rest. I didn’t argue. After Niko’s comment, I was ready to have some time alone. Everyone thought it was funny, of course. Tetya Olya scolded him, but the girls were on board. Excited, even. 

I wouldn’t be marrying either of them, though, and I hated that Niko played along with it. We had to keep our relationship a secret, sure, but that didn’t mean bringing it up all the time. I’d rather be single than pretend to go along with that kind of scheme. 

I sat on the bed in my pajamas after getting ready in the shared bathroom, hair down, teeth brushed, makeup washed off, and flipped through my French book. I’d gotten a lot better in the past two years, and it was now easier than English. I just needed more excuses to use it, especially with Feliks gone. 

_ “Ce travail, c’est vraiment pas de la tarte...” _

There was a knock on the door. 

“ _ Oui? _ Er, yes?”

“Can I come in?”

Niko.

I wasn’t exactly presentable anymore, but maybe that didn’t matter. After all, I was just a leech. “Sure,” I said, and dutifully went back to my book.

He came in and shut the door behind him with a soft click. “You’re really doing your homework?”

“I have to.”

“Even when you’re visiting guests?”

“Coach has me doing homework during competitions, too.” 

“Mishka… you’re so cold.” Niko came closer, one step at a time. Cautious. He was teasing me. “Are you upset?”

I huffed. “I’m fine.”

He took a seat on the foot of the bed. “Because of what I said?”

I turned the page without reading it, though I pretended to, and shrugged. “It was rude.”

“What if you  _ did _ marry into the family?”

“I won’t. I can’t.” And I really didn’t want to discuss the particulars of the impossibilities. Not when Niko was so picky already.  

“What kind of bear do you think you are, Mishka?”

“What?”

“My sisters wanted to know since they heard me using that name. What kind of bear? Koala bear? Grizzly bear? A little panda?”

“No. I’m a polar bear.” 

“Really? Ah, because you’re so sweet? Like the chocolates.”

“It’s because they’re the ice bear…” I muttered. “And I think that’s what Coach likes best, too.”

“Hm.” He leaned back on his palms, cheek on his shoulder to look at me. I hated that he was so cute. That he didn’t even have to try to get under my skin and get me all nervous and flustered. 

He was a cute boy. A really dumb, kind of rude, cute boy. 

Sighing again, I closed the textbook. “Niko. It bothered me that you said that because I don’t want you to think that I like you for your money.” 

He raised his thick brows, curious, waiting for me to continue. 

“I’d… I’d love you even if you were as broke as me, so don’t say stuff like that, okay?” 

The curiosity on his face turned to startled surprise, and then  _ he _ blushed- right about the time I realized what I’d just said. 

“Mishka…”

I stretched my fingers over my mouth in horror. That wasn’t supposed to come out. Not yet. Not so early. We’d only  _ just _ started dating, and I had to go and drop  _ that _ out of nowhere. “Uh- I mean…”

“You love me?”

If I wasn’t blushing before, I definitely was then. Even my ears were on fire. What a mistake! 

But even so, it wasn’t right to lie about that kind of thing. The heart needed to be honest, and I’d waited so long. If he were going to reject me for having strong feelings, it would have been better to do it sooner than later, because it wasn’t going to stop. 

So I nodded. “...y-yeah.” 

And then I opened my mouth to apologize, but before I could, he kissed me. 

_ Really _ kissed me. 

A lot of kissing me. 

The kind of kissing that had filled the screens of all those romantic movies Georgi and I had watched, and  _ wow. _

It was sort of incredible. To feel like that. With his hands in my hair, and for once I didn’t mind it, and him holding me close and just—  _ wow. _

He left a little bit after that. Maybe because I was so shocked. Maybe because he was, too. It had been so sudden. So fierce. A hundred kisses? I don’t know; I couldn’t count them because I was so caught up in it. 

Then he was gone and I was staring at the closed door with my heart beating fast and my french book on the floor and all of my thoughts completely derailed. 

Kissing. Wow. 

Boyfriends. 

Boys. 

I wasn’t mad anymore. 

It was okay. 

And there was still another full day and night left in Moscow. 

_ Cripes. _

How was I going to survive?

 

Somehow, I managed to sleep despite my thoughts doing combination spins between missing Makkachin and the fact that I’d just  _ made out with a boy. _ Me, Viktor Nikiforov. In Moscow.

It was a surprise when morning came, but one moment it was dark, the next it was bright, so I must have drifted off at some point. 

I got up, stretched, and crept out to use the bathroom. No one else in the house was awake as far as I could tell, though it was such a big house, I don’t know how I could have known. It wasn’t grand and old like the academy, or new like Georgi’s house, or even elegant like Lilia’s, exactly… it felt very firm and polished. Stubborn. There was so much room, it felt kind of like being in a miniature palace. 

As tempting as it was to explore, I went back to the guest room and did morning yoga and homework until I was called for. By then, I was dressed and feeling more out of place than ever.

Niko gave me the tour after breakfast. My favorite was the grand piano, which Niko’s sisters eagerly played for us. They were so much better at it than I was, all I could do was stare in awe. It made me like them so much more, and made Niko jealous. He, like me, didn’t play well, though he hadn’t ever taken lessons. I was supposed to be competent. 

“It’s stupid anyway.” Niko made no attempt to disguise the disgust in his voice. “It’s not going to get you anywhere, so why learn it?”

“I guess,” I said. And maybe that was true, but it was so beautiful, I couldn’t help be moved by it. 

“Come, Mishka, I’ll show you my room.”

We went upstairs. His room was fairly plain aside from the fine furniture in it. He had some photos of trees tacked to a corkboard above his desk, and the bookcase was packed full of books, but mostly it was dark- a little storm cloud in an immaculate cage.

He took me by the hand and led me to his bed. All I could think about were the kisses from the night before. That, and that we needed to get ready to go out with his mama soon- she was treating us to lunch and more shopping before the gala. Would we get caught? Was this wrong?

We sat and he touched my cheek, hand drawing back to brush against my ear, which tickled. I wasn’t sure I liked it. Then he smiled. 

“Mishka.”

“Niko?” My voice was like a little leaf shaking in the breeze on the end of a long, naked branch. 

We looked at each other for a long time. It was like the time in the park, each of us wondering who would break first. But unlike then, and quite like the night before, I could see Niko’s resolve crumbling.

This time, I played tiger, and I kissed him before he could kiss me. 

“Impatient Mishka,” he said, laughing, then came back for more.

Giving in first might have been losing, but it felt like winning in every sense anyway 

 

The rest of the day went well. We didn’t get caught, and Tetya Olya took all of us out as promised. I got some new clothes with everyone’s help (I think they had fun playing dress up committee), and Niko managed to steal a few more kisses here and there when no one was looking. 

The gala itself was fine, too, and not nearly as scary as I thought it was going to be. I actually looked really nice in my suit and everyone thought so, though Niko wondered if I would have looked better in a dress. 

“I think it would suit you,” he whispered to me at the table while everyone else had gone on to discuss business things. 

“I’m sure I could make it look really good, but that’s not the point, Niko.” 

“I want to see it some time. If even just so I could take it off of you.”

_ “Niko.”  _

Coach was the only one who even seemed to notice that anything was going on, and probably because I was so flustered the whole night. I wanted Niko to want me, sure, but grabby paws during a gala was far from appropriate. 

Honestly, the way he kept looking at me kind of reminded me of Rafe. 

But Niko wasn’t Raphael. Niko didn’t like just  _ anyone _ like that. 

Only me. 

At least I was just nervous about having our scandal discovered instead of just being a clumsy orphan. Distracted by  _ that,  _ I got through the evening of fine dining and formal wear just fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter was a hard chapter to read, right? I'm sorry. :);;  
>   
> To help make up for it, here's a link to the brand new NLA Book Club discord server: <https://discord.gg/cHMX8QF>
> 
> That's right; we've started a book club and you, devoted reader, are invited to join! We're trying to keep it small, so please let others discover it for themselves. Thanks for reading!


	25. Life Goals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor ponders the future as he heads to Japan for the next competition in the Junior Grand Prix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vitya's Playlist:**   
>  [My Silver Lining - First Aid Kit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKL4X0PZz7M)

“We’ll be back in Saint Petersburg soon, Vitya.” 

That’s what Tetya Olya told me before we left Moscow, which gave Coach more excuses to tease me the whole way home. At least he used coded words to keep my secret safe. 

“So your friend seems interested, doesn’t he? Did you two have fun talking? What did you discuss, hmm? Vitya?”

As I sank lower and lower in my seat on the plane, I wondered if the blush would be permanently burned into my cheeks. Coach was a tough old man and a retired war veteran, but he was just like any other adult in the end; he loved to poke and prod and get me all riled up. Even though I got flustered, I kept my lips sealed. I wasn’t about to out Niko. Coach knew he was my boyfriend, but he didn’t need to know anything else. 

It was way too embarrassing to even think about, anyway.

He patted my back in front of the dorms of the Academy, and told me to tell Makkachin hi for him. I said I would, and went inside. Even though I hadn’t skated at all that weekend, I was still exhausted and not looking forward to classes in the morning. Busy weekends were the worst. 

Except for the kisses.

Makkachin was asleep when I stopped by Feliks’s room, but got up as soon as he heard me. He was good and worn out, which was nice, and after he had bounced all over and licked me and tail wagged like crazy, he was about ready to fall asleep right on his paws. 

“We took him to the park,” Feliks said. 

His roommate waved at me from my former bed. He, like Feliks, was older and had a presence about him that definitely read masculine. There were no unicorns or star quilts in that room. Just strong, male dancers. Who had girlfriends. 

Makkachin looked up at me, eyes pleading for us to go back to our room and cuddle. Poor pup. He was so tired. 

I gathered him up in my arms, hanging his front paws over my shoulder. “Thanks, guys! I’m sure he loved it. Next competition won’t be until mid October… and then nothing until the final in December, assuming I make it.”

“You’ll make it, Vitya! We all watched your competition in Mexico. You’ll get gold again for sure.”

I took Makkachin back to our room and gave him his duck, and together we stretched out on my bed and looked up at the ceiling. They’d watched me? I didn’t think anyone at the academy even cared about figure skating. Or me, for that matter. 

And yet… 

n.y: I miss you already

Me: me, too 

n.y: I won’t get to see you for another month

Me: it’s okay, though. We can still talk every day!

n.y: but i want to kiss you

Me: soon :)) 

 

Niko was a lot more affectionate after the trip. He texted and sent sweet notes, letting me know that he was thinking of me. It was really cute, but since all I ever did was go to class and skating practice, I quickly ran out of new things to tell him. I resorted to sending him photos of Makkachin, but then he asked for photos of me. 

I wished, not for the first time, that I could ask Georgi for advice. 

My phone wasn’t great. The photos were small and grainy, but I tried my best to look cute for Niko, posing in front of the mirror in the more feminine outfits I had. He seemed to like those best. And I did, too… they were really cute. But it was still a little… awkward. 

At least he would occasionally send a picture back. Just him standing in a doorway, holding his phone, in terrible lighting.

 

Me: aren’t you supposed to be a photographer or something?

n.y: you want serious photos? 

Me: take some pictures of your life and mail them to me please

Me: I’ll do the same!

n.y: okay…

 

I’d always wanted a better camera than my phone, anyway, and I had some prize money from Mexico to spend, so why not? It would be perfect. I asked Lenka to go with me to shop for one, and she agreed, mostly to keep track of me. Apparently, I’d been so distracted before Moscow that I’d agreed to be her dance partner in our performance class, but I didn’t remember that at all. 

Not that it was a problem. She was a great dancer, and I needed a partner, but she… was very serious about ballet. 

Lenka had an impressive track record with the parts she’d landed; everyone knew that she’d go far in her career. Most likely to get swooped up by a company before graduation. It just required a lot of time and spotlight that I wasn’t necessarily interested in. 

“That’s fine, Vitya, I know that you want to be a skater- and you’re really  _ good _ at it -but you’re a student at Vaganova  _ now _ , so you need to put more time into your dancing!”

Letting her lecture me while we went shopping was so good for time efficiency. Makkachin was happy to be at the mall again. “I know, I know…”

“And what about  _ The Nutcracker _ ?”

“What about it?”

“Are you going to audition this year?”

Vaganova put on a student production of  _ The Nutcracker _ at the Mariinsky theater every year; it was tradition, and a great way to test the student body. Only the best dancers got parts, and everyone wanted them so they could be scouted, or to add reel to their portfolios.

Except me.

“I doubt it. What do you think about polaroids?” 

“They’re tacky. Why not?! You would make a wonderful Nutcracker!”

I shrugged. “Scheduling conflicts.”

“I’ve looked at the schedule, Vitya. The Final is the weekend of December 13th, and Junior Nationals isn’t until mid January. You could definitely pull it off.”

“I always go with my coach to Nationals, too.”

“You can skip one year, Vitya.”

“No, I can’t.” It was unthinkable. I picked up a box that advertised a digital camera, and turned it over in my hands. There was a lot of technobabble that I didn’t understand, but it looked pretty good. Would Niko be annoyed if I didn’t use real film, though? Real film was a hassle, and I definitely didn’t want to have to go to a lab to get it developed every time. That wasn’t secure  _ or _ private.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s what I do for my birthday. I go with Coach for Nationals.”

She groaned. “Please, Vitya! I want to be Masha so badly.”

I put the camera back and frowned at her. “I’m not stopping  _ you _ from auditioning Lenka. You’d be a great Masha.”

“But I want you to be the Nutcracker.”

Makkachin sneezed at our feet. He also thought this was ridiculous. 

“We could be the best pair of our year, Vitya. Of the whole Academy!”

“You maybe should have picked someone that actually  _ can, _ Lenka.”

“This is the last year you’ll be able to. Next year, you’ll be in the senior division and they compete all November and December. Please, at least consider? For me?”

It wasn’t that I hadn’t considered doing Nutcracker before, I just knew that it wasn’t going to work out. I would never be Klara, so there wasn’t a point. I didn’t even want to entertain it any more than I already had. I picked up another camera. “What about this one? It’s a point and shoot, uses film…”

Lenka took the camera from my hands and set it back on the table. “Just get the polaroid, Vitya. That’s the one you want, anyway.” 

She was so angry, grey eyes burning behind the curtains of pale blonde hair. Her face flushed the way mine did when I was mad. But I wouldn’t be swayed.

I went back to the polaroid. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll get this one.”

_ “Finally.” _

“...and I’ll think about Nutcracker.”

 

I took photos whenever Makkachin and I went outside. Actually, I took photos everywhere. It really changed how I saw Saint Petersburg. Now that I had a mission- to show Niko all of the cool things where I lived. I was noticing all sorts of stuff. It was the perfect excuse to wander in the evenings when I didn’t have too much homework, rehearsals, or skating practice. 

Even then, I could usually squeeze in half an hour or so to go wander with Makkachin before it got too dark. Dogs had needs, after all.

I wished I’d had the camera when I was with Georgi over the summer.  We could have saved a lot of memories that way. I missed him. And his dogs. And his sugar gliders. I would have taken photos of all of them. 

I settled for going through what I had on my phone, though there wasn’t much. 

What was he doing now? Did he have a new girlfriend yet? Was he painting his nails black like I taught him? Had his mama found out? 

I hoped he’d gotten some witch stuff from that friend of his in the states. 

I kept my photos in a shoe box, and every day the pile grew. I’d wait until I had the perfect bundle to send to Niko; the best parts of Saint Petersburg. I wasn’t the best photographer, but I knew he’d appreciate it, anyway. 

 

n.y: three more weeks

Me: ugh don’t remind me. 

n.y: why? You don’t want to see me?

Me: I do but I have two tests and the SBC cup before that 

Me: don’t you have tons of homework, too?

n.y: it’s not so bad

Me: every year it just gets harder 

n.y: what do they even teach you? You’re a ballerina, don’t you just dance?

 

Just dance. 

He really didn’t understand it at all. As much as I complained about the academy, I never would have said that it was  _ just dance. _ Dancing was life. The Vaganova Method was solid. Even though I was tired at the end of every day, with the intense studying, all of the studio classes, and skating on top of it, I was glad to be there. 

I’d gotten a lot taller over the summer. My body was changing. But the academy and its constant focus on building and maintaining strength kept me limber and in control. I adjusted gradually. I got stronger. My skating got better. 

I was just really, really tired, too.

 

“Vitya, you’re not falling asleep in my class, are you?”

I lifted my groggy head from the textbook on my desk, gaze shifting into focus on a paragraph about coaching. My instructor was waiting for me, glaring from her desk. “Mnno… not exactly.”

“Do you not think this is important?”

Squinting up at the blackboard to read the topic, I shrugged. Every student was required to learn how to teach. They made a big deal about it. Choreography, lesson planning, different methods of instruction for a variety of students… It was supposed to make us learn the subject better, which it did, I just wasn’t sure how it applied to me. 

She wasn’t impressed. “You never know when your career could take a drastic turn, be it in ballet or in skating… you must be prepared to support yourself.”

My classmates giggled, even though it wasn’t funny at all.

She had a point. Skating couldn’t last forever. But I didn’t want to think about that. Not yet. I had to  _ succeed _ first. I’d only just gotten started. 

“Sorry.” I sat up straight in the wooden desk. 

I’d tutored before, but could I really be someone’s coach? Like Coach Feltsman was?

It hurt my head just to think about.

 

“Bring back gold!”

“We’ll be watching!”

“Go Vitya, go!”

When it came time to leave for the SBC cup, there were a few girls that actually came to say goodbye and wished me luck at Coach’s car. One of them was Lenka, who I wasn’t too surprised about, but the other three I barely knew. 

“I’ll do my best!” I said, trying to sound confident, which made them squeal amongst themselves. My voice wasn’t as steady as I wanted it to be. And it was cracking, which was so annoying. 

Coach, who was putting my suitcase in the trunk, just chuckled to himself. He was going to tease me later for sure. 

“We know you will, Vitya.”

“Make Russia proud!”

“No, make Vaganova proud!”

“I can’t wait to see your routines again.”

I scratched under my ponytail, unsure of what to say. That didn’t seem to matter, though, because soon they were giggling all over again. I just didn’t get them at all. 

“Vitya, it’s time to go. We don’t want to miss the flight.”

“Okay. Um. Bye.”

We got into the car and through the muffled door I heard them talking about how cute I was. They weren’t wrong- I was really cute -but it was still so awkward. 

 

There are no direct flights from Saint Petersburg to Japan, so we made a connection in Novosibirsk, Siberia (I looked for tigers, but I couldn’t see any from the plane, sorry Georgi), and then flew all night long to Matsumoto in Japan. I slept against Coach’s shoulder and he said that I made his arm fall asleep, but that’s what he got for booking a red-eye flight.

After we got checked in at the hotel and dropped off our stuff, I begged Coach to take me to the arena early so I could look around and get photos before it was too crowded. I’d read about the Nagano ice rink- it had been host to the 1998 Olympics, and the structure itself was incredible! Concrete, glass, steel… I couldn’t wait to see it. All of the photos I’d seen online or in magazines were so pretty, like our rinks in Russia!

I could hardly contain myself. I was dying. 

“All right, all right,” Coach said, patting my head. “We’ll go a little early. If they let us check in, we can go get dinner afterward.”

“Yeah! Okay!” 

The drive to the rink was only fifteen minutes, but it felt like an eternity. As soon as he parked the rental, I was out the door, camera in hands. Except…

Except it wasn’t the same rink at all. 

“What’s wrong, Vitya?”

“This is the wrong place.” I turned around to head back for the car. “This isn’t where the competition is.”

Coach stayed where he was. “Yamakimbo Skating Complex in Okaya, Nagano, Japan. I have it right here on the paperwork, Vitya.” 

I turned around again. The structure was small. It was an ice rink, sure, but it wasn’t an architectural marvel at all. We were out in the middle of a foresty place and  _ no where, _ not an Olympic dream. But there was a welcome sign in English by the door for the ISU Junior Grand Prix circuit. 

Coach wasn’t lying; I’d just been wrong.

“What is the matter, Vitya? Aren’t you going to take some photos with your camera?”

I turned a pouting glare on him for making fun of me, and scuffed the asphalt with the toe of my sneaker. Hmf.

“Did you think this was the Olympic arena, Vitya?”

“Why would they hold a skating competition in Nagano and  _ not _ have it there? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Because that’s an hour from the airport and this was only twenty minutes. The Junior Grand Prix isn’t as prestigious or as high budget as-”

“That’s so lame!”

“Now, now, Vitya…”

“I  _ really _ wanted to see it, Coach!”

He sighed. “You may get to if you’re good, Vitya.”

I stilled. “What does that mean?”

Coach just smiled and started back for the building to sign us in.

I chased after him. “Coach! No, wait, what do you mean? What do I have to do to be good? I’m always good! Is it homework? I can do my homework! Gold medals? I’ll win gold medals! Please Coach, tell me!”

“You’ll have to figure it out on your own.”

 

He let me worry about it the whole weekend. I was good. Mad, but good. I stayed focused and tore through the homework I’d brought with me, and used spare time for yoga and photos of the hotel and the less than stellar venue. I didn’t even talk to Niko much, though that was more so Coach would stop badgering me about it. He seemed to know every time I got a text from him.

In the end, I was rewarded not with Coach’s plans, but with some Soap Opera Megaverse, which was nice to fall asleep to, I had to admit.  It didn’t take long with how worn out I was at the end of each day, either. 

Staying busy was the best way to be good and keep the panic at bay. But it still caught up to me in my sleep sometimes.

“Shh… it’s okay, Vitya.” Coach pulled me out of a nightmare with a heavy hand on my shoulder, and stroked my head until I fell back asleep. Cuddling my pillow wasn’t as good as Makkachin. 

Nothing was. I missed him.

I did really well in the competition, though. The alterations to Moskau still got me a really high score in the Short Program without making me as tired- with any luck, I’d break the world record at the Final. My Free Skate clenched the gold. 

With the medal around my neck, I demanded the truth from Coach. “Are we going to see the Olympic arena or not?”

He regarded me with a steely gaze, the ridge of his brow lifted in amusement. “How do you feel about skipping the free skate for the ladies and pairs tomorrow?”

I gasped. “A day trip?” As much as I like watching the other skaters, we’d come all this way, and were oh so close!

“Yes, Vitya. We can sneak out right after the panel.” 

 

I was almost too excited to sleep, but Coach warned me that if I didn’t, he wouldn’t take me, so I stayed quiet and did my best. I went running in the morning to work out the excess energy, just around the hotel and the surrounding block, but it was nice. Both the crisp, autumn air and the little town were really clean and pretty. The leaves were turning shades of gold and bronze, like the trees were full of medals. It was brisk, and everywhere I looked, the world was brimming with possibilities. 

It was so nice. So hopeful. 

And the people there were friendly, even to a foreigner like me!

After Coach called me in, I was good and put up with all of the press and nonsense, sat through the panels, and didn’t even complain that people were talking to him when we were trying to make our escape afterward. We were supposed to be  _ covert, _ so I couldn’t draw attention to the fact that I was so ready to go. 

Finally, we left the dinky arena and piled in the rental car again. Coach put on some music and we drove for an hour through the fields and mountains to higher ground, where the the all of the Olympic events had taken place. 

“You weren’t even at Vaganova yet, when these Olympics took place.”

“I know. I still watched them, though.” I put my head against the window and watched the scenery roll by. “I don’t miss normal school. I like the academy.”

“Good.”

He took us to the White Ring Arena, which was where all of the figure and short-track speed skating had taken place. It also wasn’t the building I had thought of anyway, so when I had taken tons of photos of that, we went fifteen minutes north to the M-Wave building. And  _ that _ was cool. 

“Are you really hugging the building?”

“It’s so pretty, I can’t help it!”

“Vitya…”

We went to the museum inside, too, so I could get postcards. Olympic history! Too cool! And since we were already there, Coach took us by the Big Hat building and the Aqua Wing, checking off all of the Nagano venues, with the final stop at the Minami Sports Park, where all of the ceremonies had been. They let us in to look around and take photos for a little bit.

“So you were really here, Coach?”

“You complained about me being gone for a month and emailed me nonstop. Yes. I was here.”

We sat at the top of the stands, looking out over the field. It was cold, so I sat close, bundled in my jacket. “Is that why you took me to the next one?”

“Mostly.”

I grinned up at him, then turned back to take a picture of the manicured diamond below. The grass looked cold down there. “Do you like baseball, Coach?”

“I’ve been known to, yes.”

“We never play.”

“I just watch from time to time, Vitya. Coaching leaves very little time for anything else.”

That was a good point. He’d devoted his whole life to figure skating and he didn’t even skate anymore. Just coached. And that was more than a full-time job.

Skating was life.

There wasn’t room for anything other than the ice, just like I thought. 

 

We had an early dinner before heading back— ramen, at a little hole in the wall place nearby. They had us sit at the bar and since I couldn’t read the menu, Coach ordered for me. He was better at that kind of stuff. And it was perfect; nice and hot and salty and savory. Coach knew all the best places to eat near the skating venues. It was so good and I was so relaxed that I ate the whole bowl. 

“You’re not going to be able to stay up tonight.”

I shook my head. There was no use arguing. “Nope. Gonna have a ramen hangover.”

“Good. Our flight is early in the morning.”

“Do you want ice cream, Coach?”

“What?”

“Mochis…” I yawned. “I heard they were ice cream. Do you want one?”

Chuckling, Coach rubbed my back. “Are you buying?”

“Yah, I can buy.” I struggled to get my wallet out, but Coach stopped me.

“Big spender now that you won, hm?”

“I guess I don’t have any yen… do you think they’ll take this?” I held up my bank card.

“I was joking, Vitya. Let Coach take care of it. Strawberry, da?”

“Yeah. That’s right. That’d be best, I think.”  

 

They only had matcha mochi, but it was still really good.

Kind of like life, I guess.


End file.
